Deceived

Chapter 4

"Is it always this cold in England?" Aurora asked Captain Conway as the Royal George prepared to dock at Dover. She shivered, drawing her hooded cape about her. The deep green wool was lined in rabbit, the hood trimmed with lynx. There were several flannel petticoats beneath her gown, and she was wearing knitted woolen stockings, but she was still chilled to the bone. She shivered.

"It's January, Miss Aurora," the captain said, "and in England January is always a cold month. Then, too, it's particularly icy out here on the water. It will be better once you're ashore, and your blood will thicken soon enough so that you won't feel the cold."

"I hope so!" Aurora responded. England. It was the most colorless place she had ever seen. The sea was dark, as were the buildings on the shore. The sky was gray, and there was snow everywhere. She had heard of snow, but of course until then she had never seen it.

George joined her at the rail as the captain excused himself. "Are you as cold as I am?" he asked her.

Aurora nodded. "There is no color," she remarked. "It's quite grim. I cannot imagine Cally likes it much, although her letter, when she wrote, did not offer any complaint."

"Mama lives for her letters," George replied. "We must see that Cally writes her more often. She cannot be so overwhelmed with her duties as a duchess that she has no time to write Mama."

"Do Wickham and Martha have everything packed and ready for us to disembark? Do you think the duke will meet us?"

"He'll probably send a coach to take us up to London," George said. "And, yes, the trunks are ready."

They returned to the salon to warm themselves. Very shortly the Royal George docked, its heavy lines securing it to the shore. The gangway was lowered, and the passengers began to depart the ship. Actually there had been few passengers on this crossing: a children's tutor returning to England on the death of his mother, two young women from Barbados who were being sent to school, and their chaperon, a rather quiet older woman coming to visit her daughter, who was married to a clergyman in Oxfordshire. They had all been mightily impressed by the two siblings from St. Timothy, who, the captain had informed them, were coming to England to visit their sister, the Duchess of Farminster.

As George and Aurora stepped to the head of the gangway, they saw Cally waving madly to them and calling their names. She stood next to a magnificent traveling coach, and was accompanied by a gentleman, not her husband. They hurried off the ship, Wickham and Martha following.

Cally hurled herself enthusiastically at her brother and stepsister. "Darlings! I thought you would never get here!" She hugged them both, kissing them on their cheeks. Her scent was overwhelming.

"Where is Valerian?" George questioned his sister as the baggage was being loaded on a smaller coach in which the servants would travel. "I thought perhaps he would come with you."

"Valerian? I really don't know where he is," Cally said in unconcerned tones. "Possibly he is down in the country. Dear brother, we were misled. He may bear the title of duke, but the man is a farmer! Imagine! A farmer! He would rather spend his time with his horses and cattle and sheep than in the society of elegant people."

"No matter, Cally," Aurora said sharply. "You still bear the title of duchess, and do not, as far as I can see, want for anything."

"Oh, Aurora, it is good that you have not changed. Did I not tell you, Trahern? Her wit is wonderfully sharp." She had turned to the man accompanying her. He was very tall, and slender, and fair. "Trahern, this is my sister, Aurora. Aurora darling, this is Charles, Lord Trahern. I brought him especially for you."

"How embarrassing for both me and for Lord Trahern," Aurora answered her stepsister, annoyed. "I think you know, Cally, how very much I dislike anyone choosing a gentleman for me." Her meaning was very pointed, and for the briefest moment Calandra looked uncomfortable.

Then she giggled. "Oh, you are so naughty!" she simpered. Lord Trahern's thin lips had twitched with amusement when Aurora had delivered her put-down of her stepsister. Now he caught Aurora's gloved hand, and raising it to his lips, kissed it. "Miss Spencer-Kimberly, I am delighted to meet you, even if you are not delighted to meet me." Calandra had been babbling for weeks about this sibling, and what a good match she would be. God knows he needed a wife with an income, but this girl was far too intelligent to be fooled, unlike dear little Calandra, whose sole interests were bound up with her own pleasures and her own desires. He returned Aurora's hand.

"Cally," George said, "you may be used to this weather, but we are not. Let us get into your coach. Where are you taking us?"

"London!" Cally said brightly. "It's a long drive, but we will go straight through. Trahern was kind enough to arrange for extra horses for the coach along the way. Come along now!"

It was a good fifty-mile drive. They stopped three times to exchange horses on both the coaches. Twice they stopped to eat, use the necessary, and get warm by an inn fire. They had docked just after dawn. When they arrived in London it was already dark, and Aurora was still cold and exhausted. Cally had chattered almost the entire way. She babbled about society, and fashion, and the latest gossip.

"The king is to be married this year," she said.

"The king to wed? He's too old," George said.

"Ohhh! You don't know, do you? Well," she answered her own question, "how could you. The old king died in late October. We have a nice new king, and he's going to marry some German princess, Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. He's very handsome, the king." She giggled. "Dull, but handsome. Do you know how the old king died?" She lowered her voice. "He was on his commode!" And she giggled wildly again. "His commode! Of course they hushed it up so the common people would not hear and make a mockery of it, but naturally they did. All of Europe knows that old King George died sitting on his commode!"

"How mean-spirited of you, Cally," Aurora chided her stepsister.

"Oh, Aurora!" came the protest. "You are so serious. You must become gayer, or you will never succeed in finding a husband for yourself. Men in polite society do not like bluestockings."

After what seemed an interminable time, the coach pulled up in front of Farminster House. Servants ran from the mansion to lower the coach's steps, open the door, and help the occupants out. Aurora sighed with gratitude as they entered the warm house. Behind her she could hear her stepsister giving orders to the servants about the baggage.

"Welcome to England, Miss Spencer-Kimberly," she heard a voice say.

Looking up as she drew her gloves off, she saw the duke descending the stairs. "Thank you, your grace," she responded politely.

He took her two cold hands in his warm ones and replied, "I thought we had agreed all those long months ago that you would call me Valerian, Aurora. Lord, you are frozen, I fear. Come into the drawing room, and I will have tea brought. My grandmother has come up from Hawkes Hill with me to greet you. She is waiting for you."

Ascending the staircase, they entered a magnificent drawing room with a gilded ornamental frieze around its paneled ceiling. The carpets were thick and colorful. The walls were hung with fine portraits, and the mahogany furniture, unlike that in the Indies, was upholstered richly. Heavy velvet draperies hung from the windows, and in a huge fireplace flanked by great stone lions a great warm blaze burned. By the fire sat an elderly lady with snow-white hair. She arose to greet them.

"Grandmama, this is Miss Aurora Spencer-Kimberly," the duke said. "Aurora, this is my grandmama, the Dowager Duchess of Farminster."

Aurora curtsied prettily. "How do you do, ma'am," she said.

Mary Rose Hawkesworth looked sharply at Aurora. Why was the girl's face familiar? She looked nothing like that foolish Calandra. "How do you do, Miss Spencer-Kimberly," she answered the girl. Then, seeing Aurora shiver, she said, "Come by the fire, my dear. You are, of course, not used to our English weather."

"I fear not, ma'am, although Captain Conway assures me that my blood will thicken, and then I shall not feel the cold as deeply."

The dowager chuckled, and led the girl to a seat by the fire. Her grandson pulled the bell cord on the wall, and when a servant replied sent the fellow for hot tea. Out in the foyer Cally could be heard laughing, and then she called for her stepsister.

"We are in the east drawing room," the duke responded.

Cally burst into the room, George and Lord Trahern in her wake. "Hawkesworth!" she said, surprised. "What brings you in from the country?" Then her eye spied the dowager. "Oh! Grandmama has come too. Good evening to you, ma'am." She offered the dowager a scant curtsy.

"Calandra" came the frosty reply.

"We did not expect you, Hawkesworth," Calandra said.

"Obviously not, my dear," he answered her. "Good evening, Trahern." Then he turned and said, "Welcome to England, George." The brothers-in-law shook hands. "Come now, and meet my grandmother."

There was something terribly wrong between Cally and her husband, Aurora thought. They were civil to each other-barely-but there was a coolness between them. For some reason, she felt sorrier for the duke than for her stepsister. The young woman chattering brightly in this room was not the sister she remembered. She could tell from just looking at George that he felt the same way. The butler arrived bearing a large silver tray upon which was a teapot, tea saucers, and a plate upon which were delicate triangles of buttered bread and thin slices of fruitcake.

"Tea? Ohhh,no, no, no, no, no!" Cally trilled. "We would celebrate my brother and stepsister's arrival with champagne! Bring some up from the cellars!" she ordered the butler.

"Cally, I am so cold," Aurora told her. "I want tea!"

"Oh, very well, but the rest of us shall have champagne!" Cally declared. "Aurora, I hope your attitude stems from exhaustion, and that you are not going to prove to be a dull guest."

"It was not my understanding that George and I had come to provide entertainment for you, Cally," Aurora snapped.

"Good for you, girl!" the old dowager said softly.

"Trahern," the duke said suddenly. "I thank you for accompanying my wife to Dover, but I would assume that you have an engagement elsewhere this evening. We will excuse you."

Charles, Lord Trahern, bowed to the Duke of Farminster, a small sardonic smile upon his mouth. "Good evening to you, then, your grace," he said, bowing. Then he left the room.

"I did not want him to go!" Cally said angrily, stamping her foot.

"He overstayed his welcome" came the response from her husband.

"You are always spoiling my fun!" Cally whined. "And now you have given me the headache. I am going to bed, Hawkesworth, and I do not wish to be disturbed by anyone."

"Of course, my dear," the duke said smoothly, and he bowed to her. "Shall I escort you to your room?"

"No!" Cally said sharply, and she departed the drawing room.

There was a long silence. George Spencer-Kimberly looked exceedingly uncomfortable. The dowager looked annoyed. There was a look on Valerian Hawkesworth's face that Aurora could not fathom. She said, "What has happened to my stepsister? I do not know her any longer."

"She has, I am afraid," said the dowager, "been seduced by society. I have seen it happen before with these young girls." She poured a generous dollop of fragrant tea into a deep saucer and handed it to Aurora. "It is worse with Calandra, for she had no contact with real society before she came to England. She tells me she lived on St. Timothy her entire life, and never even visited Barbados. Why on earth did her father not at least take her to Barbados?"

"I believe our father did not quite see Cally and me as growing up into young women," Aurora said quietly. She took a sip of her tea. It was hot and satisfying. She took another sip, and then set the saucer down upon a small table. "We did not even know of this marriage arrangement Papa had made until we received your letter, ma'am. Only then did my brother, George, open Papa's strongbox, and we found the betrothal agreement. Had Valerian just arrived without prior warning on your part, we should have been even more surprised than we were."

The dowager nodded. "My late husband and your father were obviously cut from the same cloth," she said. "No need to trouble the ladies until we must, my James used to say." She shook her head. "As if women cannot manage on their own. Well, we can, but I suppose to keep them happy, we must pretend we cannot." She peered at Aurora. "You look a far more sensible miss than your sister, child. Are you?"

"We are different, ma'am, I will admit, but we are sisters, and do love each other. Cally calls me a bluestocking. If loving learning makes me such a creature, then I suppose I am."

"And are you as eager to make your mark on society as is your sister?" the dowager asked Aurora.

"I think I am a trifle afraid of society" was the reply. "From the little I have seen of England so far, it is most overwhelming. The drive from Dover was interesting, but once we reached the city I found myself becoming a trifle uncomfortable. I suppose it is because I am not used to so many people, and so many buildings. I believe I shall prefer Hawkes Hill," Aurora concluded.

"I've lived in England my entire life," the dowager woman replied, "and I, too, prefer Hawkes Hill." She smiled, but her eyes were again scanning Aurora's face. Why did the girl look so familiar? "Valerian!" she called to her grandson. "Bring Mr. Spencer-Kimberly over here so I may get a better look at him."

The duke complied with her request, flashing a quick grin at his companion. "Now you're in for it," he said low.

The dowager looked the young man over carefully. Medium brown hair. Hazel eyes. A stocky build. Of average height. There was nothing in particular to distinguish him, but he did wear his clothes well, and he had a pleasant countenance if only average features. "I believe," she said, "that we can find a most suitable wife for you, Mr. Spencer-Kimberly. Not here in London, of course. Too many flibbertigibbets and fortune hunters. But down at Hawkes Hill. A good, sensible country girl who will be a good breeder even in the heat of the Indies."

"I would be most grateful for your guidance, your grace," George replied sincerely, a friendly twinkle in his eye.

"Harrumph, and pretty manners to boot." The dowager chuckled. "You are certainly a different cut from my grandaughter-in-law, I must say. I am amazed the same woman raised you. It must be in the blood." She rose to her feet. "I am going to show Miss Aurora to her bedroom, Valerian, The child is about to fall asleep on her feet, and has had a long day. Come, girl, we will leave the gentlemen to their own devices." She exited the drawing room with Aurora stumbling sleepily in her wake.

The butler came to clear away the tea things.

"Bring whiskey," the duke ordered him.

When they were finally settled by the fire, heavy crystal glasses in their hands, George looked directly at his brother-in-law and said, "What is the matter between you and Cally, Valerian? I've never seen her behave as she behaved today, and it is obvious that something is wrong from the way you treat each other."

For a moment Valerian Hawkesworth considered telling his companion that whatever the problem was, it was not George's concern, but then he said, "It was a mistake to marry a girl I did not know. It is my fault. Had I remained on St. Timothy for some months instead of being so eager to return to England for the racing season, I should have discovered that your sister is still more of a child than a woman. She would not permit me to consummate our marriage until we had reached England. She feared, she said, in such close quarters as we had aboard the ship that the other passengers might hear us. I acquiesced reluctantly. However, Calandra does not like the act as she so coldly refers to it, yet I swear to you that I am not a cruel or thoughtless lover. She hates being down in the country, and fled to London without my permission three months ago. I thought if I left her here until you and Aurora arrived that perhaps she would get this passion for constant amusement out of her system, but I fear she has not. Her dressmaker's bills are outrageous. She commissioned a new coach to be built for her. Its interior is completely lined in scarlet velvet, and has crystal accoutrements. She went to Tattersall's and purchased two snow-white and two pure black horses to pull the damned thing. Do you know how much that cost me, George? And I would be more than willing to indulge her if she were willing to do her duty by Farminster and give me an heir, but she will not! I would not shock you, nor would I appear indelicate, but on the few occasions that I have managed to make love to Calandra-and believe me, George, it is no more than a dozen times in all the months we have been married-your sister lays silent, her head turned away from me as if she cannot bear to look at her husband. It is not easy to rouse one's passions with such a cold wife. Frankly, I prefer not to, but what choice have I? She is my wife."

George shook his head, astounded by the duke's revelations. "Valerian, I do not know what to say to you. I could have never imagined that Cally would behave in such a fashion with you. I am truly sorry."

Valerian Hawkesworth shook his head. "It is not your fault, George, and I am glad that you and Aurora are here at last. We will remain in London a few weeks, but then we will return to Hawkes Hill. Calandra will come, too, even if I have to drag her by the hair on her head. I have had enough of her childishness! Enough of her friends! Men like Trahern, whose reputations are not the best. Calandra seems to have no sense where her friends are concerned. The time has come, however, for her to do her duty by Farminster and give me an heir. She will not return to London again until she has!"

The two men talked awhile longer by the fire, sipping the amber whiskey in their glasses until it was gone. Then the duke escorted his brother-in-law to his bedroom, and bid him good night.

"Wickham," George said when he was alone with his servant. "Do you know what room Miss Aurora is in?"

The valet nodded. "Aye, sir."

"Go and learn from Martha whether my sister is still awake."

The valet hurried out, returning a few moments later. "She's still up, sir. Follow me." And he led his master down the hall to Aurora's room, knocking on the door, and then opening it for his master.

George entered the room to find his sister sitting up in bed in her nightgown, a nightcap on her head, sipping more tea. "Still cold?" he asked her, noting the down coverlet on the bed.

"I'm finally warming up," she said. "What did the duke have to say? What is the matter with Cally? Martha, bring my brother a chair, and then remain to hear what he has to tell us."

George sat in the chair that the servant supplied and then told the two women what the duke had reported to him. "Valerian has been very patient, and most understanding, I feel," he concluded.

"We should hear what Cally has to say," Aurora told him.

"It will be but her opinion of how she is treated, and have nothing to do with the facts of the matter," George responded. "You yourself were shocked by her behavior today, Aurora."

She nodded. "I was," she admitted, "but this is all so unlike Cally." She sighed. "Still, the dowager's words to me but confirm the duke's more intimate tale to you. What a coil."

"You should have married him the way your papa planned," Martha said grimly. "But you would have your own way, and now look what has happened."

"It is too late for regrets," Aurora said. "Let us sleep on it, and then we will see how we may help Cally and the duke to mend fences. Surely there is something we can do."

"The last time you three did something…" Martha began.

"Don't scold us, Martha," George said, arising. Then he bent and kissed his stepsister. "Good night, Aurora." As he opened the door, he gave Martha a quick kiss on the cheek too, and then was gone.

"Young devil!" Martha muttered, but she wasn't angry.

Calandra had not changed her habits of childhood, and would not awaken much before noon, Sally informed them. She was prettily attired in gray with a white lace cap, and looked very smart. But like her mistress, she, too, had changed. She was superior and sharp with Martha, which did not please the older woman.

"Gotten a bit above herself, I'm thinking," Martha said dourly. She settled a breakfast tray on Aurora's lap. The tray was set with exquisite fine china and heavy silver service. It contained poached eggs in a heavy cream sauce with peppercorns grated over the top, lovely pink country ham, fresh bread, butter, and honey. "I've set the tea on the sidetable, miss," Martha said.

Aurora ate with greater appetite than she would have thought she had. Everything was absolutely delicious, and seasoned to perfection. When she had finished every single scrap, and was sipping her saucer of tea, there came a knock upon the door. Outside was the duke's man, Browne. The duke wondered if Miss Aurora would like to take a carriage ride to see some of the city. Her brother, of course, would accompany them, Browne said seriously.

"Tell him yes," Aurora said to Martha.

Her bath was filled, and she bathed, then dressed, Martha carefully arranging her hair, which was clean and free of salt for the first time in weeks. The servant then set her mistress's fur-lined cape upon her shoulders, drawing the hood up carefully, and handing her a pair of fur-lined gloves.

"Now, you make certain you keep warm," she cautioned.

George arrived, and escorted his stepsister down into the wide lover where the duke was awaiting them.

"Good morning," he greeted the pair. "The carriage is waiting for us outside. As I am certain that you will want to spend some time with Calandra this afternoon, Aurora, I have arranged for us to have a drive through Hyde Park. You must yet be tired. Is there anything in London that you would like to see?"

"Could we go to the British Museum?" she asked.

"Of course," he said, not telling her that the museum was open only three hours a day, and that tickets must be obtained weeks in advance. He was certain he could pull a string or two so she might visit this relatively new wonder.

Farminster House was located on the west side of Grosvenor Square. It had been built in 1740. Of redbrick with stone dressings, it stood three stories high, atop which were attics for the servants.

"If it were warmer," the duke said as they settled themselves in the vehicle, "we should ride in an open carriage, but I believe you will be able to see enough through the windows of this coach."

The horses stepped smartly around the square and onto Upper Grosvenor Street, which led right into Hyde Park. Aurora was delighted to see how close they were to this beautiful greensward with its watercourses. From Upper Grosvenor they turned onto Park Lane. The park, the duke explained, had once been a royal hunting ground, but had been opened to the public in the previous century. Deer of several varieties could still be found within Hyde Park's brick walls. The late Queen Caroline had been something of a landscape gardener, and working with the finest architects of her day had done many things to increase the beauty of the park. Among her accomplishments was having the river Westbourne damned to form the Serpentine, an exquisite lake.

"We will just drive about the perimeter of the park today," Valerian said. "It is still too cold for you to walk abroad. My grandmama would be quite put out if I should be responsible for your getting a chill. Not to mention how angry Calandra would be, for she has great plans, I am certain, to take you about to all the most fashionable parties."

"I do not believe I shall find the parties as fascinating as I will find the museum," Aurora replied. Then she said, "George has told me of the estrangement between you and my sister. I will do my best to convince Cally of the errors of her ways."

Valerian Hawkesworth shook his head. "You are kind, Aurora, but I fear your task an impossible one. I know you little better than I knew Calandra when we were married, and yet I believe you would have made me a far better wife than your sister. What a pity that you were not the heiress I was to wed."

Aurora flushed a bright pink.

"Forgive me," the duke said hastily. "I have embarrassed you, and I certainly did not mean to do so." He took her gloved hand in his. "Will you forgive me, Aurora?"

She nodded, unable to speak. Please God he never learn the way he had been deceived. He would never forgive her, and worse, his anger could be directed against George and their mama.

"I find your grandmother a delightful lady," George said, attempting to bridge the uncomfortable gap. "I wish Mama could meet her."

Returning to the house, they found Calandra was awake and calling for her sister. Aurora excused herself and went to join her sister. Cally was sitting up in bed, an exquisite lace nightcap covering her dark hair. She was sipping a saucer of tea.

"Where were you?" she demanded.

"Valerian took George and me for a drive about the park."

"How dull," Cally said.

"He is going to arrange for us to visit the British Museum," Aurora continued. "I cannot wait to see the exhibits."

Calandra rolled her hazel eyes heavenward. "Aurora, what am I to do with you? If you are to catch a husband, you must not show so much intellect. Men do not like women of intellect. Besides, you will strain your eyes in a boring museum. You must maintain a feminine composure, and be charming. The gentlemen like that. I have become quite popular among the gentlemen in polite society. You must too."

Aurora laughed. "You are indeed in your element, Cally, but what of your duty to Valerian? You must give him an heir or two before you utterly exhaust yourself with all this frivolity."

"If I have a baby I shall ruin my figure," Cally said. "Lady Standish told me that her waist size increased by an inch with each child she gave her husband. When she was my age her waist was eighteen inches. Now it is twenty-four!"

"A man expects his wife to give him children," Aurora patiently continued. "Have them and be done with it. Valerian seems to me to be a good man, and I do like his grandmother. You are fortunate in your new family, Cally."

"I do not like the dowager. She hates me, Aurora! And she disapproves of me, but I do not care about that," Cally said.

"She will approve of you completely when you have given her grandson an heir, Cally," Aurora replied. "The Hawkesworths are an old and noble family. There is no reason for them to die out. You must cease being selfish, little sister, and do your duty."

"There is a ball at the Duchess of Devonshire's tonight," Cally said. "We have all been invited. Trahern will be looking for you. He is quite splendid, isn't he?"

"I find him a bit repellent," Aurora said. Then, "You will consider what I have said to you, Cally, won't you? Mama would not be very pleased with your behavior, you know. I do not know what I shall write to her. She cannot be fooled for long even if we are an ocean apart. After one inane correspondence on the many sights in London, I shall have no excuse but to tell her about this change in your sweetness of temperament. Now, I have warned you."

"Oh, do not be mean to me!" Cally cried, and she attempted to squeeze a few tears from her eyes.

"You never could do that correctly." Aurora chuckled. "I am not in the least sympathetic to you. You have been awful, and now you must cease being so dreadful, Cally."

"You are going to be no fun, I just know it," Cally grumbled. "I don't know why you bothered to come to England at all."

"I suspect it is a good thing that I did," Cally told her. "Remember, had it not been for me, you should not be a duchess."

"That is a terrible thing to say, Aurora!"

"But it is the truth."

"You are sorry now, aren't you?" Cally sneered. "You are sorry you did not marry him as Papa planned. Well, you had your chance. I am the Duchess of Farminster, and I intend remaining the duchess!"

"When," Aurora demanded, "when did I ever ask for the return of a gift, Cally? This marriage was my gift to you. I do not want it back. I never wanted it, but you have a duty to Valerian Hawkesworth, and you must fulfill that duty. Only then can you indulge your own desires and behave like a spoiled child!" She arose. "I do not want to go to your damned ball!" Then she stormed from the room.

"You had best mend your fences with her," Sally said. "She has the power to unseat you, your grace."

"You forget yourself," Cally said coldly, handing the tea saucer to her maid. Then she sat back against her pillows, her eyes calculating, her demeanor thoughtful. Finally she said, "The new ball gown. The turquoise one with the gold lace. Bring it to my sister with my apologies, and say I should like to see her in it tonight."

"Your grace," Sally replied, "that gown is far too sophisticated for a virgin who is husband hunting."

"You are right," Cally said. "What do I have that is suitable?"

"There is the silk gown in Appleblossom's Love, your grace. It has little silk flowers about the neckline, and lovely lace."

Cally nodded. "Take it to her. It is far too sweet for me. I don't know why I ever bought it in the first place."

Sally fetched the gown in question and brought it to Aurora's bedroom. When Martha opened the door, she said, "Her grace thought that Miss Aurora would look lovely in this, and hopes she will wear it tonight to the Duchess of Devonshire's ball. Have your mistress ready to leave at ten o'clock."

"Ten o'clock!" Martha exclaimed. "Respectable people are abed at that time of night, Sally."

"In London, in polite society, folks in the upper crust have balls at ten o'clock of an evening. You'll get used to waiting up till three or four o'clock in the morning. I did." Martha took the garment, shaking her head in wonderment as Sally hurried off down the hall. "Dancing almost to dawn. It can't be right!" Martha muttered after the retreating figure.

"I told Cally I'm not going to any ball," Aurora told her servant. "Oh, Martha, Cally has become so selfish!"

"Always was selfish," Martha answered. "There just wasn't so much temptation back on St. Timothy. Now, don't you fret yourself, miss. This dress is the prettiest I've ever seen, and by the look of it, not worn even once! You're going to look lovely in it, and no nonsense about not going. Of course you're going. Your mama would be mighty upset if you didn't take advantage of every opportunity offered you while you are in England." She hung the ball gown in the dressing room.

"Are you glad to be back in England, Martha?" Aurora asked her.

"I don't rightly know yet, miss. I was twenty-five when my parents died and I left. I'm over forty now. The best part of my life has been being in service to your family, miss. I'm happiest, I suppose, wherever you are."

Aurora hugged the older woman. "Oh, Martha, I do love you!"

The servant flushed, pleased. "Now, don't go getting all mushy on me, Miss Aurora," she half scolded.

The clock on the mantel struck one.

"Oh, I must join the others in the dining room. The dowager told me last evening that luncheon is at one o'clock! Is my hair neat?"

"As a pin," Martha replied. "Hurry along, miss!"

Aurora reached the dining room just as the others were being seated. Curtsying to the dowager, she apologized for her lateness.

"Nonsense, child, you are punctual to the minute" was the reply. "Valerian tells me that he took you for a turn around Hyde Park this morning. Did you enjoy it?"

"Very much," Aurora said. "I was frankly relieved to find such a lovely place so near Farminster House."

"A little bit of country in this otherwise bustling city," Mary Rose Hawkesworth said with a smile. "That is why I insisted my husband buy a house in Grosvenor Square. If I have to come to London, I must be near the park. Of course, I have always come to London as little as possible," she finished with a chuckle.

"Calandra tells me we are going to the Duchess of Devonshire's ball tonight," Aurora said.

"Indeed, are we?" The dowager was surprised. "Your sister has obviously forgotten to inform me. I shall speak to her after luncheon. She is not old enough, even if she is married to my grandson, to be your chaperon. You must be accompanied by a respectable matron lest any obtain the wrong impression of your character."

"I am relieved, ma'am," Aurora said frankly. "Cally seems to want to foist her friend, Lord Trahern, off on me, and I do not like him. With you by my side, I believe together we can repel him."

The dowager laughed, and then she grew serious. "You are wise not to be taken in by Trahern. He's a handsome devil, I'll give you that, but a bounder on the prowl for a wife with a good income."

"He will not get mine," Aurora said firmly. "I shall not leave your side, ma'am."

"Why, girl, you must if you are to dance with some of our more eligible gentlemen," the old lady said.

"Only with your approval," Aurora answered her. "I will rely on your knowledge of the men involved, and your judgment of their characters."

Mary Rose Hawkesworth nodded, and began to sip her soup. Why was the girl familiar, she asked herself for the fiftieth time since she had met Aurora yesterday evening? She had seen that face before. But where? And what a pity it wasn't this sensible miss Valerian had married instead of that bubblehead, Calandra Kimberly. Calandra. Her friendship with Lord Trahern was disturbing. The Dowager Duchess of Farminster was not so old she had not heard the gossip about Trahern. It was most unsavory. She knew Calandra was not cuckholding her grandson with the cad, for Calandra was too cold a woman, not at all to Trahern's taste. He was, of course, clever, witty, and amusing, and those traits would attract Calandra. She would want to keep in his good graces, for Trahern knew absolutely everyone, and since he had not caused any serious scandal, was welcome in all the best houses as an eligible man. Calandra was silly enough to believe that if she could make a match between Trahern and her stepsister, she would gain the devil's friendship forever.

Well, it wasn't going to happen because she would not let it happen. And it wasn't going to happen because Aurora was much too intelligent to be taken in by a man like Lord Charles Trahern. The dowager began to consider eligible young men in London now who might be suitable husbands for Aurora. None, however, came to mind. Perhaps when they were back in the country, she considered. Actually, her grandson would be a perfect husband for Aurora, and she would be a perfect wife for him. What a pity that fate had deemed it otherwise. If instead of sending Valerian off to St. Timothy a year ago she had invited Calandra and her family to England, perhaps things could have been changed. They would have seen that Calandra was unsuited to the position of duchess, and that Aurora was more than suitable.

"What are you thinking of so hard, Grandmama?" the duke said.

"Nothing of import, dear boy," the dowager replied.

Chapter 5

Aurora was not certain if it had been the best or the worst month of her life. London was a very exciting, but also a very exhausting city in which to live. Valerian had managed to obtain two tickets to the British Museum, which was located in the newly purchased Montagu House, Bloomsbury. George had begged off, not really as interested as his stepsister was in antiquities, and so the duke had escorted Aurora. The museum had its beginnings when Sir Hans Sloane, a physician and collector, had suggested to Parliament that they might be interested in buying his works of art, antiquities, and natural history collections for less than half the price it had cost him to assemble them. Parliament was delighted to accept, and the Foundation Act was passed to cover the cost of that expense, and future such expenses. The Harleian Collection of Manuscripts was purchased in that same year from the Duchess of Portland. The museum had opened two years prior, and was very popular.

Aurora enjoyed her visit immensely, but to her surprise, she equally enjoyed the ancient Ceremony of the Keys that took place each night at the Tower of London. To this ritual she was escorted by the duke, her stepbrother, and the dowager duchess, prior to attending a ball. Calandra had chosen not to attend, rolling her eyes at them and complaining that Aurora's interest in sightseeing was becoming increasingly boring, and her intellect had been commented upon most unfavorably by several of Calandra's friends. Aurora had just laughed and gone off to Tower Hill with her party.

Standing upon a roof, they watched as the chief yeoman warder, in his red cloak and Tudor bonnet, a lantern in his hand, marched toward the Byward Tower, the keys to the ancient fortress displayed in his gloved hand.

"An escort for the keys," he loudly called out, and four yeomen of the guard fell into step beside him as he marched through the gates of the Byward Tower and over the causeway connecting it to the entrance gate beyond the Middle Tower. The chief yeoman warder locked the gate and then continued on to lock the gates of Byward Tower, finally approaching the Bloody Tower. There the sentry on guard came forward, challenging: "Halt! Who goes there?"

"The keys," replied the chief yeoman warder.

"Whose keys?"

"Queen Elizabeth's keys."

The sentry then presented arms even as the chief yeoman warder removed his cap and called out, "God preserve Queen Elizabeth!"

"Amen!" replied the yeoman accompanying him and the sentry.

"How exciting it must have been in those days," Aurora said afterward as their coach made its way to another of the seemingly never-ending balls. She had found to her surprise that she did not really enjoy this continual round of social events Calandra so loved. She knew she had been a great disappointment to her stepsister, but she just couldn't help it.

None of the young men who had been presented to her had taken her fancy in the least. Many were young and eager, and woefully ignorant for upper-class gentlemen. There were rakes and roués and older men looking for a second or third wife. Her comfortable little income made her eligible, but the truth was, most of the men she met looked down on her because she was a colonial, and not English born. The fops, however, were the worst. They were openly rude, and behaved as if they were doing her a great service to even speak with her. Aurora did not think she liked high society. And the women were little better. The girls her age looked sideways at her because she was considered a rival. Their mamas, in whispers, reminded all who would listen that Miss Aurora was the sister of that silly and possibly not-quite-respectable Duchess of Farminster. The way that woman carried on with Lord Trahern, and right under her husband's nose too. Well, the sister might look as innocent as the new-driven snow; and she might even have a respectable income if one were to believe the rumors; but was she really all she seemed? And what respectable family would consider such a girl for one of their sons? One could not be too careful, the mamas of the girls Aurora's age commented in an effort to turn attention to their own offspring. Aurora was not so foolish that she didn't realize what was happening.

The duke had extended their London stay longer than he had originally intended. Now, however, he was ready to return home to Hereford. Calandra was furious. She did not want to go, but she found no allies even among her own brother and stepsister. They had both had enough of London, and were delighted to be leaving the city. Calandra sulked. Valerian was adamant. Cornering his wife's maid in the hallway, he said,

"Are you happy in your position, Sally?"

"Oh, yes, yer grace," Sally replied, bobbing a curtsy.

"Do you wish to retain your place, then?"

"Yes, yer grace." Sally shifted her feet nervously.

"In whose employ are you?" The duke towered over the servant.

"H-her grace's," Sally half whispered. She was suddenly afraid.

"No, Sally, you are not in her grace's employ. You may serve her grace, but you are in my employ. You take my wage. You live under my roof, and you eat at my table. You even have a small clothing allowance from my generosity. Do you understand the difference between being in service and being in my employ?"

"Y-y-yes, yer grace." She had to pee.

"Then since you are content with your lot, I may assume you wish to remain in my employ. In order to do that, Sally, you will report to me any foolishness your mistress may contemplate. Tomorrow we leave for Hawkes Hill. We will remain there until I decide to come up to London again. That will not be until your mistress has given me an heir or two. If your mistress should attempt to run away again, you will warn me in time to prevent her from doing so. If you do not, Sally, you will find yourself back in the same slum from whence you sprang. Do you understand me, girl?"

"If she finds out I'm spying on her, she'll kill me!" Sally told the duke. "She's got a real mean temper when she's crossed."

"You will be clever, Sally, and she will not find out," he soothed the maid. "And as long as you obey me, girl, there will be a place for you in my household. I wield more power here than your mistress, and you are no fool. You know it to be so."

Sally nodded, and then the duke stepped aside to allow her to pass. He had been patient with Calandra, but now he was through being patient. She took his forbearance for stupidity and weakness. Decamping from Hawkes Hill and coming up to London without his knowledge had been outrageous. She believed herself off his leash, but she was not. The lead he held her by was a long one. The time, however, had come to rein her in and bring her to heel. Once they reached home he was going to be in her bed every night. He would use her until she bloomed with his child. That was why he had married her. To get children from her. With George and Aurora as his allies they would bring Calandra around to a more reasonable frame of mind.

Aurora. He was thinking about her far more than he should, and he knew it was wrong. But she was everything he had ever desired in a wife. She was intelligent and kind. She had wit, not to mention beauty. She knew her duty, which was certainly more than he could say for his wife. He was glad, nay, relieved, that no one had taken her fancy here in London. What fools men could be. It would be difficult when his grandmother found Aurora the right husband, and he had no doubt that she would. She already had a match in mind for George, the dowager had told her grandson. Valerian Hawkesworth sighed deeply. He needed to go home.

It was a journey of several days' duration from London to Hawkes Hill in Hereford. There were several coaches involved. The dowager had one in which she traveled with her personal maid. There was one for Martha, Sally, and Sally's assistant, Moll, who shared their accommodation with the duke's valet, Browne, and George's man, Wickham. Calandra and Aurora had their own vehicle in which the duke and George might ride when they were not a-horse. There were three baggage carts. There were fresh horses awaiting them at all the inns, brought from the duke's estate. A skeleton staff would remain at Farminster House. The rest of the servants had departed the day before for Hereford.

On the morning of their departure Moll came to Martha. "Sally says her ladyship is having a tantrum and carrying on something awful. Could yer mistress come, please?" She curtsied to Martha, who thought the young girl a nice child with promise.

"We'll both come," Martha replied. "Go tell Sally."

"I knew she would do this," Aurora said. "She half as much said so yesterday. What are we to do, Martha? I am not certain we shouldn't write to Mama and beg her to come to England."

"Yer mama won't come, miss. She don't like the sea, but I have an idea. You just tell her high and mightiness that if she don't behave herself, you'll tell the duke of the deception played on him. That's fraud. The duke can annul the marriage or get a divorce, I don't know which. Either way, where will Miss Cally be then?"

Aurora's eyes twinkled. "Cally would rather die than lose her title," she said. "I would not have thought such duplicity was possible in your character, Martha."

"I still got a few surprises up my sleeve, miss" was the reply.

They could hear Cally shrieking as they approached her bedroom. "I'm not going! I have already told you! I am not going! The king is giving a ball tonight, and I will not miss it! Everyone will be there!"

"But we, however, shall not," Aurora said, entering her stepsister's bedchamber. "We shall be tucked up asleep in some comfortable inn on the road to Hawkes Hill before the first musician can tune his violin, Cally. Why are you not dressed? We are leaving in less than an hour. You really are quite impossible, sweeting." She turned to Moll. "Come, girl, and help your mistress. Sally, are the trunks ready yet? Everyone else's have already gone down."

"I am not going!" Calandra snarled, her hazel eyes darkening. Her hand reached for an ornament to throw. She gasped as Aurora grasped her wrist strongly, thereby preventing her from further mayhem.

"Leave us, all of you, just for a moment," Aurora said. "My sister and I need to speak together privately." She released Cally's wrist.

The three servants left the room.

"Why are you on his side?" Cally demanded.

"Because he is right and you are wrong," Aurora answered her bluntly. "You were married to a duke not so you might spend the rest of your life in a round of endless pleasures, but so that you might bear him children, Cally. I may be considered headstrong, but no one has ever said I did not do my duty. Now you must do yours."

"It was your duty to marry him, not mine, but you would not marry him," Calandra responded, rubbing her wrist.

"Because I was headstrong." Aurora laughed, "But you did marry him. He fulfilled his part of the bargain. Now you must fulfill yours."

"I will not do it! And there is nothing you say, Aurora, that will make me. I am the Duchess of Farminster. You are only my stepsister. You have no power over me!" Cally said meanly.

"Ahhh, little one, but I do," Aurora replied softly. "If you do not come quietly with us to Hereford, I will tell Valerian of how we deceived him."

"You wouldn't dare!" Cally whispered, disbelieving.

"I will have no choice," Aurora answered her. "If you will not do your duty as Valerian's wife, then I must tell him of the fraud we perpetrated upon him. This will allow him to either annul your marriage or divorce you with just cause, which he certainly has. You have been a disobedient wife, and you refuse to give him heirs. What good are you to him? You have, I regret to tell you, Cally, become a great embarrassment to George and me. Only the vast span of the ocean has kept me from informing Mama of your bad behavior. She would not approve of it. She would want me to act toward you as I am now doing. She would not want you to ruin us all. Do you understand me, Cally?"

"I hate you!" Calandra spat out.

"No, little sister, you don't really hate me, but you are angry that I have found a way to curb your wicked conduct. You were always a poor loser at games, Cally, and this is the biggest game of all. The most important we shall ever play."

"No wonder the men didn't like you," Cally said cruelly. "They said you were uppity and high-flown for such an unimportant little colonial. Too much of a bluestocking, Trahern said he heard."

"Lord Trahern's gossip is of little import to me, Cally. I found your friends shallow, dull, and wretchedly obvious. As for the ladies, they were little better, and most of the girls my age were insipid and silly. Very much like you have become, I fear. I think I shall find a nice country gentleman far more to my taste, even if he isn't a duke. However, if you wish to retain your title, little sister, you had best let Moll dress you. The trip is a long one, the dowager informs me. We want to make it as pleasant as possible. Shall I call your servants back now?" She smiled at Calandra.

What would she do, I wonder, Cally thought, if I told her to go to the devil and called her bluff. But Cally knew what Aurora would do. She never in all their lives had made an idle threat or refused a reasonable dare. She will expose me. Expose our deceit even if it means we will all be ruined. She has a dowry and an income. I have nothing if I am not the Duchess of Farminster. I should have to go back to St. Timothy and live in the old Meredith plantation house with Mama for the rest of my life. Alone. Thousands of miles from London. She shuddered.

"Cally?"

"Oh, call my servants in, Aurora. You have won this round, but I will find a way to repay you for this betrayal, I promise you!"

"You will feel better when we have reached Hawkes Hill," Aurora said soothingly. "You are exhausted with all your social life."

"Oh, go to the devil!" Cally said sourly, "And get out!"

Their trip was not unpleasant. Cally sulked and hardly spoke to her, but the landscape outside their carriage while winter still was yet lovely. Their vehicle was comfortable and warm, and very well sprung. The horses were changed at midday when they stopped to refresh themselves at the prearranged inn. Their accommodations were clean and quite satisfactory. There were hot, tasty meals and warm featherbeds with down comforters. Hot water was brought at night to wash, and again in the morning.

When her stepsister's mood refused to lighten, Aurora asked the dowager's permission to ride in her coach with her. She was a far better companion, and very knowledgeable about the country through which they were traveling.

"The road we travel upon was originally built by the Romans," the dowager informed Aurora. "Do you know about the Romans, girl?"

"A little bit, ma'am. They were an ancient peoples, warlike, considered a great civilization in their time. I did not know, however, that they built roads too."

"All over England, girl!" She smiled at Aurora. "How is it you know about the Romans? I doubt that bubblehead of a sister of yours knows about Romans, or much of anything else either."

"Cally was not particularly fond of her studies as George and I were, but she plays the pianoforte beautifully. Has she played for you? She can sing too, and paint," Aurora defended Calandra.

"How did you convince her to come along so meekly?" the dowager demanded. "She's been sulking ever since we left London, but she came."

Aurora laughed, pretending to make light of the matter. "Why, ma'am, I just told her if she didn't behave herself, the duke would divorce her, and then she wouldn't be a duchess anymore."

"Hah!" the dowager barked a sharp laugh. "You certainly know the bubblehead's weak spot, don't you, girl? Aye, that was a good threat. Calandra likes being the Duchess of Farminster." She looked sharply at Aurora. "I shall have to be careful choosing a husband for you, girl. If he is too weak, you will have no respect for him, and if he is too strong, you will kill each other. You present me with quite a challenge."

"As my family knows, ma'am, I will marry only for love. Titles and wealth mean little to me. Nevertheless, I will appreciate your efforts in the matter. Perhaps together we shall be successful." Her gloved hands were folded meekly in her lap, but Mary Rose Hawkesworth was not in the least fooled.

"Are you as stubborn as your sister, then, miss?" she asked.

"I will admit to being stubborn," Aurora replied, "but you will find me far more reasonable than Cally, I think."

The dowager chuckled, genuinely amused. It had been a very long time since she had been so taken with someone as she was with Aurora. Again she considered the pity of it that it hadn't been Aurora her dear grandson married instead of the foolish Calandra. Changing the subject, she said, "I believe I have the perfect wife for George, although I will certainly present him with several young ladies that I consider suitable marriage prospects. Still, I have my own personal favorite. I shall tell you about her if you do not tell your brother. He should make up his own mind, of course."

"I promise, ma'am," Aurora said.

"Her name is Elizabeth Bowen. She is the eldest daughter of Sir Ronald and Lady Elsie Bowen. Sir Ronald is a baronet with a small estate matching ours. He is the vicar at Farminster village church."

"Would her family be willing to have their daughter move an ocean away from them, ma'am?" Aurora wondered. "You know that Valerian appointed George to remain in his position as St. Timothy's manager."

"The Bowens will thank God if Betsy and George are taken with each other. Lady Elsie proved a fecund wife, but she has given her husband five daughters before their son was at last born. Five dowries, and the estate entailed upon the heir. Those poor girls don't have large portions, and cannot expect great marriages. A young man with an income such as your brother's will be considered a treasure."

"How will he meet her, ma'am?"

"We shall have a ball at Hawkes Hill once we are settled in again. That should please your sister," the dowager said. Then she yawned. "I am exhausted with all this traveling. I will certainly be glad to be sleeping in my own bed tonight." She closed her eyes, and very shortly began to snore softly.

Aurora looked out the window of the coach as it rumbled along the road. The landscape was rolling. Here and there the symmetry of the land was broken by isolated hills. They had crossed a great number of brooks, streams, and small rivers along the way. The countryside was heavily wooded, stands of oak and elm and beech vying with orchards that come spring would blossom, and come late summer would give forth a bounteous crop of apples and pears. There were arable fields, their plow ruts frozen with winter's cold. By summer they would be golden with wheat. Herefordshire's greatest wealth was in the sheep and cattle now grazing on the late February hills. The cattle were bred for meat, which for the most part would end up in London. The sheep gave a good wool crop regularly that was woven in the area's many small water-powered mills into fine cloth and yarns.

Most of the farms and small towns they passed by had timber-framed houses with thatched roofs. The churches, even those in the little villages, were, however, constructed of stone, as were the castles and the great houses of nobility. Cally had complained that Hawkes Hill was a big old-fashioned stone house with a slate roof, and nothing to recommend it at all. The dowager, however, had told Aurora that the house dated back to Tudor times, and indeed had been constructed on the ruins of an earlier house that had burned.

The Hawkesworth family had been barons on the estate for longer than anyone could recall. The earldom had come into being when one of the ancestors had done a great favor for King Henry VII. This first Tudor king was noted for being tightfisted. Raising a man in rank was a cheap enough thanks for the king, especially when the man already possessed a large estate. The dukedom, of course, had come through Charles II.

Suddenly the coach began to slow itself, and when it had almost stopped it turned off the high road onto a narrower track. The vehicle bumped along, but the dowager continued to snore on contentedly. Aurora smiled, and drew the lap robe up a bit farther so the old lady would not catch a chill. They were obviously approaching Hawkes Hill Hall. The carriage finally came out of the trees, and Aurora could see the roadway stretching ahead of them across a greensward, and, beyond, upon a hill, was set the hall. It looked almost like a castle with its dark gray stone turrets and towers.

Aurora gently shook her companion. "Ma'am, I believe we are approaching home," she said.

"Eh? What?" The old lady's eyes flew open, focused, and then she said, "Yes, that is Hawkes Hill. I hope you are going to be very happy here with us, Aurora. At least until you depart a bride."

"Or return home to St. Timothy," Aurora replied.

"Do not say such a thing," the dowager scolded her. "I should consider myself a complete failure, and unable to face your dear mama, if I did not provide you with a good husband, child."

As the travelers drew up to the house, they found servants waiting to welcome them and take the luggage down from the baggage carts. Calandra swept grandly by everyone, Sally and Moll in her wake, disappearing into the building. The duke ushered his grandmother and his guests inside.

"Welcome to Hawkes Hill," he said to George and Aurora. "Grandmama, will you be joining us for dinner this evening?"

The dowager held her hands out to the fireplace, then said, "I think not, dear boy. It has been a long trip, and I think I should prefer a tray in my room. I know you understand."

"Yer grace?" Moll had joined them. "Her grace says she'll take dinner in her room too; and she don't want to be disturbed neither, she says to tell you, sir." The maidservant curtsied, flushing.

"Tell her grace that I acquiesce tonight, but tomorrow is another matter. Say it just like that, Moll," the duke instructed the girl, his demeanor serious.

"Yes, yer grace." Moll curtsied again, almost running from the drawing room where they were all standing.

"Impudent chit!" the dowager muttered. "And to send that poor child to deliver such a message. Valerian, you must do something!"

"I fully intend to, Grandmama." He turned to George and Aurora.

"Dinner in the country is at seven," he said. "Peters will show you to your rooms." He bowed.

The dowager had gone on ahead of them. George and Aurora followed the butler back into the entry hall. Beyond the staircase they could see a large room, probably the old hall, Aurora thought. She was really looking forward to exploring this wonderful house. It might have been yours, a wicked little voice in her head reminded her. She pushed the thought away. She had made her choice, and she had to be content to live with it. It was, after all, what she had wanted. Wasn't it?

"You and the old girl get on quite well," George whispered as they mounted the broad staircase. "You were in her coach all but the first day. Cally is obviously still in a bad mood."

"The dowager was far better company than our sister," Aurora told him. "Besides, I like her. She is intelligent and has wit."

"What are we to do about Cally?" George persisted.

"Cally is not our concern," Aurora told her brother. "We helped to get her home, and now the rest is up to the duke. She is his wife. Besides, Lady Mary Rose has plans for you, George. She has lined up a bevy of eligibles from which you must pick a bride." Aurora chuckled wickedly. "I cannot wait to meet the girl who will ensnare you with melting eyes and maidenly sighs."

"And what about you, miss?" he demanded.

"First you, George," Aurora laughed, giving him a gay wave as she entered the bedroom Peters indicated was hers. "I'll see you at dinner, brother dear!" And she blew him a kiss.

"Well, miss, and here you are at last," Martha said. " 'Tis a grand house this Hawkes Hill. Just look at this room. Isn't it lovely?"

Aurora looked around, and had to agree with her servant that it was a lovely room. The walls were covered in a creamy silk. The woodwork was painted pale green. The hardwood floors were covered with a rose and green Oriental carpet. The marble fireplace was flanked with a winged angel on either side. The cream and celadon striped draperies were of heavy silk, tied back with heavy gold roping. The mahogany bed had tall turned posts and an arched canopy of cream satin. The matching bed drapes were sprigged with rosebuds. There was a magnificent mahogany chest against one wall; a piecrust table before the windows flanked on either side by upholstered chairs; and by her bedside was the prettiest little side table Aurora had ever seen, atop which was a crystal candlestick with a beeswax candle and a small silver snuffer.

"And," Martha said, sounding most pleased, "there's a separate dressing room for your clothing, miss, as well as a little room for me so I don't have to climb those stairs into the attic."

"Then you think we'll be happy here?" Aurora teased her servant.

"We'd have been happier if you knows what," Martha replied tartly. "Miss Calandra's rooms are at the far end of the hallway. She ain't hardly spoke to you since we left London."

"She's still angry at me, I fear, for threatening her as I did," Aurora said. "I far more enjoyed riding with the old dowager." She sighed. "It is unusual for Cally to have such a prolonged attack of the sulks, but she'll come around in time. After all, I'm all she'll have unless she makes some friends among the local gentry."

"They won't be tony enough for the likes of our duchess," Martha decided. Then she said, "Would you like a bath, miss?"

Aurora nodded. "It is to be just George, Valerian, and me at the dinner table, but I think I should make an effort, don't you?"

Martha agreed. Going to the wall, she yanked on the bellpull. It was answered shortly by a housemaid. "My mistress needs a bath," Martha said. "Would you be kind enough to have hot water brought?"

"Yes, ma'am," the housemaid said politely. A personal servant outranked her.

At five minutes before the hour of seven, Aurora descended back down the wide staircase, going to the drawing room where the duke had said they would meet. Her gown was of lavender silk, the underskirt a broad stripe of lavender and cream. The rounded neckline was edged in tiny purple silk violets, and her sleeves dripped lace.

"Good evening, Valerian," she said, curtsying prettily. "I am early, then, for I do not see George, who is always on time."

"How pretty you look, Aurora," he replied by way of a greeting. He was dressed in white knee breeches, a black velvet coat, and a waistcoat of black and white striped silk. "No, your brother has not come down yet. Do you find your room satisfactory?"

"Oh, yes! And Martha is more than pleased to have her own little room next to mine. It was most thoughtful."

"Excuse me, your grace." George's valet, Wickham, stood politely in the door of the drawing room.

"Yes, Wickham?"

"Master George begs your pardon, yer grace, but he's got the headache fierce, and is already, beggin' yer pardon again, tossin' his guts. He can't come down to dinner. Not that I didn't warn him to wear a hat today when you was ridin', but would he listen?"

"Do what you must to cure the poor fellow," the duke said. "I hope he will be better by the morrow."

"Thank you, yer grace," Wickham said, and withdrew.

"Poor George," Aurora sympathized with her absent brother. "He gets these headaches out of the blue now and then. The worst of them cause his stomach to turn as delicate as a maiden's. It's better since he is grown, but when we were children he got them every few months. Mama had to sit by his bed and rub his aching head."

"Tell me about your growing up on St. Timothy," the duke said, escorting her into the magnificent dining room and seating her on his right. "Peters, remove the other table setting. Master George will not be joining us. He has been taken ill." He turned back to Aurora.

"You must be bored to death with hearing about our childhood," Aurora laughed. "Surely Calandra has spoken at length on it."

"Your sister speaks only about society, her place in it, fashion, and the latest gossip," Valerian replied bitterly.

"But surely on your voyage… you were several weeks at sea," Aurora said.

"Our honeymoon voyage was dull, to say the least. Your sister spent a great deal of time alternately boring and impressing the other passengers, depending upon their level of gullibility, with her mindless chatter which revolved about her title, the wardrobe she would purchase when we reached England, and the high place she would take in society. Most nights she was overcome with seasickness, or so she said. I slept in Sally's cabin, and Sally slept on the trundle beneath Calandra's bed."

"Oh, Valerian, I am so sorry," Aurora said, and without thinking reached out to touch his hand comfortingly.

His fingers closed about hers. "You could not know, Aurora. I apologize for being less than delicate with you."

"I do not understand Cally at all. She is entirely different from the sister I grew up with," Aurora responded, her cheeks pink, and then she gently extracted her hand from his. She could feel every pulse in her body pounding at his touch, but she hoped her discomfort did not show. She had begun to suspect that her comparisons of the gentlemen she had met in London to Valerian Hawkesworth were detrimental to her finding a husband of her own to love. She must not be attracted to this man, nor he to her. Valerian Hawkesworth was Cally's husband.

"Let us forget my wife for the moment," he told her. "Tell me of what it was like to grow up on St. Timothy."

"It was wonderful," Aurora began. Perhaps her recollections would help him to understand Cally better, and allow them to forge a deeper, more loving relationship. "I remember nothing but St. Timothy, although George says he thinks he remembers Jamaica. Robert Kimberly formally adopted us immediately. He filed the papers in Barbados. He is the only father I have ever known." Well, at least that was the truth, Aurora thought to herself. "There was never any rivalry between any of us. I have been told that brothers and sisters often fight, but we never did. When we were small, we made up a motto, and we have adhered to it all of our lives. You heard us speak it the day you and my sister departed St. Timothy. Together. Forever. As one."

The duke nodded. "Cally never explained it to me," he said. "I think it is charming. Go on."

"There is really little to tell," Aurora continued. "Our home was filled with love. Mama was the gentler parent, and it was easy to get around her. Papa was the sterner one, but he was never cruel, never beat any of us, and getting around him was a victory." She laughed with the memory. "We had a tutor for lessons. George and I excelled, and were in frequent competition. Cally did not like learning a great deal. She was better at female pursuits like embroidery, painting, and music. George and I rode a great deal, but Cally has never really liked horses, as I told you previously. My brother and I loved swimming together, but Cally does not like the water, and always feared for her delicate skin in the sun. When we were small, the three of us would paddle about in the shallows beneath Martha's eye, but from the time she was about six, Cally did not enjoy being naked, and refused to swim with us. And when we were eight, Martha decided that George and I could not swim together unless he wore his drawers and I wore a chemise. We did not understand why at the time, but we obeyed her directive. Martha can be very severe, and Mama told us we must obey her."

"And you never left your island kingdom?" the duke said.

Aurora shook her head. "No. There was no need to leave it. We had everything we needed there."

"And no one came to visit?"

"Rarely. Mama's family in Jamaica had disowned her when she ran away with her first husband, our father. He was of good family, but the black sheep, I fear. He was killed in a duel. Poor Mama. She always believed she could reform him, but it was not to be. He had been dead over a year when she met Papa. Her first husband had left her practically impoverished. A cousin, who knew Papa, took pity on Mama and invited her to dinner the same night she had invited Papa. Mama says it was love at first sight. They were married a month later, shocking Mama's family once again. They would not even come to the wedding, and voiced their opinion about Kingston that Mama would once again suffer for her impulsive behavior. I do not believe they would have been welcome on St. Timothy even if they had come. No, we had few visitors on the island. An occasional planter or sea captain. No one else."

A simple meal was served as she spoke. A clear soup, a lemon sole, a roast of beef with Yorkshire pudding, a dish of carrots, and another of turnip. For all her chatter, Aurora managed to eat with a hearty appetite, much to the duke's amazement. Her appetite was quite astoundingly prodigious for a girl with such a small frame. In London they had rarely taken a meal together, Calandra preferring to serve her guests meals on trays before departing for a ball, and when they had had dinner at another house he had been nowhere near Aurora to see her eat with the gusto with which she was now eating. Where did she put it all? he wondered.

"Tell me about your childhood," she said as she spooned up the last of her sherried trifle from a Wedgwood dish. "You lost your parents when you were young, didn't you?"

"Like you," he said, escorting her back into the drawing room, "I had a happy childhood, cut all too short when my parents, and sister, Sophia, were drowned returning from France. My grandparents then took it upon themselves to raise me. I was tutored until I went off to Oxford. I came home after two years. I prefer my country life, my horses, the cattle and sheep I raise. I have my own mills, and Hawkes yarn is becoming quite well known throughout England. I have formed a small company and market it myself. Your sister was quite horrified when she learned of it. She considers farming and trade beneath a gentleman, but the king loves farming too." They sat together upon a tapestried settee. "Will you miss London, like Cally?" he asked her.

"No," Aurora told him. "Like you, I am a country mouse." The scent of him was filling her head and making her dizzy.

"Then perhaps you will ride with me in the morning. If your sister keeps to her schedule, we shall not see her much before two in the afternoon," he said dryly.

"It has been a long journey," Aurora replied. "I think perhaps tomorrow I shall stay abed until at least nine o'clock."

"Of course," he said. "We shall ride later, and I will show you one of my little mills. Perhaps George will be up to coming too." What was that fragrance that surrounded her? It was so clean and fresh.

"That would be nice," Aurora murmured. His big hand lay almost next to hers upon her skirt, his upon his knee. She could feel the heat from it. She had to get a grip upon herself!

There was a long, deep silence between them. He did not know what to say, and feared to speak to speak at all lest he break the spell between them.

Finally Aurora forced herself to her feet. "It has been a tiring day, Valerian," she said. "I believe I shall go to my room now." Were her knees going to hold her up?

"Let me escort you," he said, jumping up and taking her arm.

She wanted to tell him it wasn't necessary. That she was perfectly capable of finding her way out into the hall and walking up the staircase to her bedroom. There was no danger in it. Martha would be there waiting for her, but somehow Aurora could say nothing except "Thank you, Valerian." His fingers gripped her elbow in a firm yet gentle grasp. It was ridiculous, but she felt safe with him somehow, and there was really nothing wrong in his polite actions. The problem was with her. He was engendering feelings within her that she had never before experienced, and she must get a hold of herself at once. She must remember that this man was her sister's husband. If their marriage had not been a happy one to date, it soon would be. It had to be! Cally would have a child, and everything would be all right.

They mounted the stairs together. Behind them the servants were snuffing out the candles. Reaching the door of her bedroom, Valerian stopped, and releasing his grip on her arm leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead.

"Good night, Aurora," he said. "Pleasant dreams." Then he walked off down the corridor to his own rooms.

She stepped through the doorway into her chamber. Her heart was pounding. When he had moved toward her she had thought she would faint, and then his lips had touched her forehead. She had been actually disappointed. Aurora knew she ought to be ashamed of herself, but she somehow couldn't bring herself to be. I must never again be alone with him, she thought. It is too dangerous. He is unhappy, and it is all my fault, but I cannot change anything now.

"You're as white as a sheet," Martha said, coming up and taking Aurora's hands in hers. "And you're cold as ice. What has happened?"

"Nothing," Aurora lied. "Nothing at all. I am just beginning to feel the effects of our journey, and am exhausted. I want to go to bed."

"Very well, miss," Martha said, but she did not for one minute believe that everything was right with her young mistress.

Chapter 6

It was past ten o'clock in the morning before Martha awakened her mistress the next day. Gently she shook the girl, and when Aurora had finally opened her eyes, the serving woman said, "I've brought your breakfast, miss." Then she plumped the pillows up behind the girl's back and placed a tray upon her lap. "The duke asked if you would ride with him this morning, but I told him you was still sleeping, and much too tired for all that activity today. I hope I did right, miss."

Disappointment commingled with relief. "You did, Martha. I am far too fatigued. I think I shall take a leaf from Cally's book and remain the morning in bed."

"An excellent idea, miss. The dowager's Jane tells me that's what the old lady is going to do too."

"Have you spoken with Wickham? Is George recovered?"

"Recovered, ate a huge breakfast, and gone off with the duke," Martha reported with a smile. "Now, there's some nice oat stirabout I sweetened with honey on your tray, and a soft-boiled egg. You eat every bit of it up, miss. You need your strength."

It felt good to be cosseted, Aurora thought as she spooned the oat cereal, rich with honey and heavy cream, into her mouth. She had certainly imagined last evening. Valerian Hawkesworth was too much of a gentleman to make advances to his wife's sister. She was simply overtired. They had had the voyage from St. Timothy, and then she had not really had a moment's rest since they arrived in England. Cally would not hear of it, and was constantly on the go, George and Aurora in her wake. The country was going to be a lovely change of pace.

She stayed the morning in bed. Calandra was nowhere to be found, and Aurora assumed she would still be in her chambers. George and the duke had not returned. The dowager kept to her bed. Aurora found her way to the duke's library, and, taking down a book on the history of the Hawkesworth family, settled into a chair by the fire to read. Peters, the butler, interrupted her at one point to ask if she would like him to bring her a tray with some luncheon.

"What time is it?" Aurora asked him.

"Almost one o'clock, miss," the butler replied.

"Is no one else taking lunch, then?"

"The duchess and the dowager duchess have called for trays in their chambers, miss. The duke and Master George have not yet returned. They were to ride over to Malvern mill, and that is a bit of a distance. They have undoubtedly stopped at one of the farms to eat. There is only yourself up and about."

"I am hungry," Aurora considered aloud.

"A nice pot of tea with your meal, miss?" the butler said.

"Yes, please," she answered. "Thank you, Peters."

The butler bowed slightly. Miss Aurora had nice manners, he thought to himself as he departed the library. What a pity her sister did not. The young duchess was the most demanding and ungrateful woman it had ever been his misfortune to know, and her servant, Sally, wasn't much better. He hoped they would not ruin young Moll, who was his granddaughter. The girl would be useless in service if they did.

Aurora read all day until the light began to fade in the library. Peters brought her luncheon. A footman added more logs to the fire twice. Finally a maid entered the room and began lighting the lamps. Aurora put the book back on its shelf and hurried upstairs to dress for dinner. If the duke and George had returned, she had not heard them come into the house. Cally, she knew, had not sent for her, else Peters would have come for her. She wondered how long her sister would sulk and allow her anger to burn.

She found George and Valerian awaiting her when she entered the drawing room. Cally and the dowager were still recovering from their journey. George was talkative, and full of enthusiasm over what he had seen that day.

"I believe we can apply some of the principles used in setting up the knitting mills to the bottling factory we shall build on St. Timothy," he said. "First, however, we ought to get a contract for the rum. Do you know of anyone in the Royal Navy who might help us, Val?"

Aurora let them talk, eating her dinner quietly.

There came a lull in the conversation between the two men as the dinner was drawing to a close, and the duke said, "Have you seen Calandra today, Aurora?"

Startled to hear her name spoken, she looked up. "What? I do beg your pardon, Valerian, but I was daydreaming, I fear."

"Have you seen Calandra?" he repeated.

"No, I spent my morning in bed and my afternoon reading in your library," she responded, not quite looking at him.

"Do you find my library satisfactory?" he said.

"Satisfactory? Why, it is the most incredible library I have ever seen!" she enthused. Then, "I hope you do not mind that I invaded your privacy, Valerian."

"Not at all. What did you read?" The dark blue eyes were willing her to look directly at him, but she would not.

"I came across a history of the Hawkesworth family. It is quite fascinating," she told him. She could feel him staring, and turned to her brother. "You must visit the library, George. There is a whole section on Greek history, and I know how you love that."

"I should like that!" George said, his voice excited.

"Why do you not take George to the library now," Valerian suggested. "I must leave you and go up to see Calandra." He rose from the table and bowed politely to them. "I bid you both good night."

Valerian Hawkesworth mounted the stairs purposefully, but instead of entering his wife's chambers, he entered his own. There, with Browne's help, he disrobed, washed, cleaned his teeth, and rinsed his mouth. He refused the silk nightshirt Browne offered, instead wrapping himself in a quilted silk robe the color of his best claret. Then he dismissed his valet courteously. Browne departed, his ageless face impassive, knowing what was to come, and knowing he would never divulge even the slightest hint of it to the other servants. Let the women gossip. He would not.

Entering his wife's bedchamber via a connecting door, the duke saw Calandra seated at her dressing table, Sally brushing her mistress's long black hair. He heard the servant counting off the strokes. Walking across the room, he took the silver brush from Sally, saying, "You are dismissed for the night, Sally. And Moll too." He began to ply the brush, taking up the count from where the maid had left off. "How many do you usually do?" he asked Calandra.

"Two hundred," she replied as the door closed behind her two serving girls.

He continued counting until all the strokes were accounted for, as he did not wish to antagonize Calandra. Perhaps, just perhaps now that they were home, now that Calandra surely understood he would not tolerate any more nonsense from her, perhaps now she would yield herself to him willingly and give him the children he desired. "Two hundred," he finally said, putting the brush down on the table and drawing her up and about so she faced him. He bent to kiss her.

A look of acute distaste passed over her face, and she pulled away from him. "Really, Valerian, must you?" she said coolly.

"You are my wife," he said quietly.

"And that gives you the right to impose your animal nature upon me? How unfair!" Calandra said.

What was the matter with her? he wondered. He had not been brutal or cruel with her on the rare occasions he had exercised his husbandly rights. The duke drew a deep breath. "What is it about intimacy between us that troubles you, Calandra?" he asked her. He must be patient. "Do you find me unattractive? What can I do to please you, my dear?"

"If you truly desire to please me, Valerian, then I would ask that you leave me in peace and allow me to return to London to my friends."

Suddenly he was jealous. It wasn't that he really cared about this shallow girl who was his wife, but his pride was at stake here. Grasping her by the arms, he said angrily, "Is it Trahern? Do you find him attractive? Is he your lover? You will take no more lovers until you have given me my heir, Calandra! Until then, you will go nowhere!"

"Trahern?" She sounded genuinely surprised. Then she laughed. "I suppose he is attractive enough, but he is not my lover. I have no lovers. You are the only man who has ever known me in the biblical sense. I simply do not enjoy the act. I hate it when you push your member into my body, grunting and groaning until you release that unpleasant, sticky discharge of yours. If I never had to do that again, I should be a happy woman. I suppose that is why you are here tonight."

He was astounded by her admission. "Is it just me, or is it all men you despise in this sense?" he asked her.

"All men," she said frankly. "I do not like the act. I do not like being crushed beneath someone else's body. The scent you produce when you do it is unpleasant to my nostrils. The whole process is utterly disgusting. There is no delicacy in it at all, and I don't want to do it ever again. If you attempt to assault me, I shall scream the house down, Valerian. Now that I have explained myself, I hope you will go away and leave me free of such actions from now on."

He needed a drink, but there was none available to him here. Drawing in another deep breath, he said in a voice far calmer than he himself was feeling, "When did you know you felt this way, Calandra? Did your mother not explain to you that the act of copulation between a husband a wife was the manner in which they obtain children?"

"I felt this way from the moment you first touched me," she said quickly. Too quickly.

"No," he disagreed, "you are lying to me." His grip on her arms tightened again. "Tell me the truth, Calandra!"

"I was a virgin when we married!" she cried out. "I was!"

"I know that," he said, his voice a shade calmer. "Tell me!"

"When I was a little girl, perhaps eight, there was this planter from Barbados who would stop several times a year on his way to and from Jamaica. He brought Mama all the gossip of her family and friends, for even though she was estranged from them, she still enjoyed knowing what was going on in their lives. He was a great big man, the planter, and he always seemed to favor me over Aurora, taking me up onto his lap, cuddling me, pinching my cheeks, and saying I was the prettiest little girl in the world. Then he began to seek me out when no one else was around. He would take me on his lap and put his hand beneath my gown, touching me where I didn't even dare touch myself. I didn't like it, but he would soothe me with a kiss and a sweetmeat, and then release me, telling me i hat this was our little secret, and asking me not to tell anyone. Once he set me between his legs and took his member from his breeches and asked me to touch it. That was the day Martha came upon us. She took me from the man and told him that only if he promised her he would leave immediately and never return would she keep his disgusting secret. Then she took me away and questioned me as to what had happened, and for how long had it been happening. She said I must never tell anyone or else I would be considered damaged goods, and no decent young man would want me for a wife." Calandra gave a bitter little laugh. "But I knew by then I never wanted to be touched by a man again if I could avoid it."

"You knew what was involved in a marital relationship then," the duke said, "and yet you still married me? Why, Calandra?"

"I wanted to be a duchess," she answered him simply, and then, "and when I first saw you, you were so handsome, I thought that I could overcome my aversion, at least long enough to give you children. Then, I believed, you would take a mistress, and I should not have to endure your attentions for the rest of my life. I really did think I could do it, Valerian. I did!"

"You will have to do it, Calandra," he told her. "It is either that, or I must have the marriage annulled on the basis of your refusal to give me children. I am sorry, but I must have heirs!"

"You cannot cast me off," Calandra cried to him. "I like being a duchess! I think you are very cruel to me. If you try to annul our marriage, I shall tell people that you practice wicked and filthy perversions, and I shall ruin you so no decent parent will give their daughter into your safekeeping for a wife. You will never have children, Valerian! Never! Never! Never!"

Valerian Hawkesworth had a fierce temper that he rarely allowed to get out of control. Now, however, it exploded into a white-hot fury. "You dare to threaten me, you coldhearted marble Venus?"

Calandra stepped back, startled by the rage she saw in his deep blue eyes which were now practically black with anger.

The duke, however, reached out to grasp a handful of her long hair, wrapping it about his fist, yanking it close to him so that they were face-to-face. "You will give me an heir, Calandra," he told her. "Since you wish to remain a duchess, you will do your duty by my family." His free hand grasped at the neckline of her nightgown, and he ripped it open. She shrieked, but before she might set up a greater cry, he threw her to the bed, and taking a handkerchief from his robe, he tied it tightly about her mouth. Then, standing, he removed his robe.

Valerian was furious with himself. Never in his entire life had he behaved this way with a woman. Any woman. Her threat, however, had been a powerful one. Even if he succeeded in annulling their union, her accusations could indeed ruin his chances for another marriage, even to Aurora. The scandal would be incredible, and his family would be barred from court. The new king was a moral young man with plans for marriage to a respectable princess. It was his own fault. He should have sent for the Kimberlys to come to England so he might get to know them before he married Calandra. He should have been suspicious when she refused to even let him kiss her in the plantation gardens. She had been his betrothed wife, not some debutante he was seeking to seduce. He should have known something was wrong. It was all his fault, and now there was nothing to do but that she give him the children he wanted whether she desired his attentions or not.

"You will not have to endure my passion," he told her, "once you are with child." He looked down on her. She was very beautiful, but he felt absolutely no lust for her at all. His member lay limp. Calandra gazed scornfully at it, silently taunting. He could have sworn she was trying to smile. The bitch was mocking him! At that moment he realized that he hated her. Hated her as much as he now knew he loved Aurora.

Aurora. His mind went back to that day on St. Timothy when he had accidentally come down to the beach and seen her frolicking in the blue-green waters of the sea. Then she had come up onto the beach all golden in color. As warm as the sunlight itself. He remembered her long legs, her perfectly round little breasts the size of ripe peaches, the pretty tangle of curls at the junction of her thighs that had glistened with little crystal drops of water. And he had desired her then. Even as he desired her now.

Cally whimpered, her eyes riveted to his groin where his member now thrust forth, hard as iron, and ready to plow her furrow. Dispassionately, he looked first at her, then at his manhood. Coldly pulling her legs apart, he leaned forward to pinion her arms and pushed himself into her. His desire for Aurora was great, and he quickly spilled his seed into his wife. Her look of revulsion soothed his troubled conscience. He remained with her long enough to assure she did not flush the seed from her body, and then, untying the handkerchief from her mouth, he arose from her bed.

"We will do this every night until I am convinced you are with child, Calandra," he told her with brutal frankness. "If you attempt to cry out, I will gag you once again. You will cause no upset within my house. Once you have given me a healthy son, then I shall leave you in peace for the rest of your days. You may go to London. You may go to Paris. You may go to hell for all I care. But you will go nowhere until I have my heir. Is that understood?"

She nodded, stunned by his determination.

"And tomorrow you will appear at the dinner table. I will tolerate no more sulking on your part. Is that also understood?"

"Yes," Cally whispered.

The duke picked up his dressing gown, and, wrapping it about himself, departed her chamber through the connecting door. Within the privacy of his own rooms he sagged against the chifforobe. He felt absolutely drained, and disgusted with himself, but what other choice had he had? He had heard of women like Calandra who disliked the sexual act entirely. Some women, he knew, preferred other women as lovers, as some men preferred those of their own kind. There were those who had lovers of both sexes, and then there were those very few like his wife for whom physical passion was repellent. What a pity she had been spoiled as a child by the planter from Barbados, who had touched her as no decent man should a little girl. That monster would have eventually raped Calandra had not the vigilant Martha discovered them.

Had Calandra been born with some inner distaste for lust and for love? Or had that youthful experience hurt and frightened her? If he had behaved differently, could he have taught her the joys of passion? He wanted to believe he could, but in his heart he knew that he could not. He had never been rough with his wife until that night. He had been patient and gentle with her. When he had finally gotten into her bed, it had been three nights before he had taken her virginity. Valerian Hawkesworth did not know what else he could have done. Now neither of them had a choice in the matter. He needed an heir, and Calandra wanted to remain Duchess of Farminster. It was a heavy burden he had to bear, and he would have to bear it alone. With a sigh he took off his dressing gown and put on the silk nightshirt that Browne had left at the foot of his bed before climbing between the lavender-scented sheets.

He had seen the shock in Calandra's eyes when his manhood had responded to his secret thoughts of Aurora. He wondered what his wife would think should she learn the object of his desire was her own sister. Hellfire and damnation, how he wanted her! But he would never have her except in his lonely dreams. He would have to cooperate with his grandmother to find Aurora a husband, and he would have to stand by as she was married to another man. A stranger who would get to plunder Aurora's sweetness as he never would. He hated the thought. Closing his eyes, he attempted to sleep.

In the morning the ladies always took breakfast on trays in their bedchambers. At luncheon, however, the duke was surprised to find his wife joining them at table. While a trifle paler than normal, Calandra looked none the worse for wear. Greeting him politely, she took her place, smiling brightly at those assembled.

"I am almost recovered from our journey," she said, and turned to the dowager. "And you, ma'am? You are looking well today."

Mary Rose Hawkesworth's thin eyebrow rose imperceptibly. "I am still tired," she said, "but then, I am a great deal older than you are, my dear. Still, I could not bear my own company another minute. Aurora, I am told you have been amusing yourself with our library."

"It's a wonderful library," Aurora responded. "Cally, how pretty you look," she told her sister. "I was worried about you."

"You need not have fretted," Cally replied. "How typical of you, Aurora, to spend all your time in a library. You will ruin your eyes and get wrinkles, I fear." She turned back to the dowager. "We must plan a ball, ma'am, if we are to launch my sister and brother onto the sea of matrimony. You know all the country folk to invite."

"Indeed I do. I thought, perhaps, Calandra, that the first of May would be a delightful time. All the villages celebrate with Maypoles, dancing, and bonfires. Would that suit you?"

"Can we not do it sooner?" Cally asked.

The dowager shook her head. "I am afraid not. There is a great deal of planning to a ball, Calandra, as you will see, since I expect you to help me plan it. Eventually you will plan all your balls yourself, but as this will be your first fete at Hawkes Hill, I will help you. There is much to do."

"Like what?" Cally was genuinely curious.

"Well, for starters," the dowager said, "the ballroom must be refurbished and thoroughly cleaned, the floors polished to a high gloss, the crystal chandeliers all washed and polished and set with freshly dipped candles. A menu must be selected and planned for those invited to dinner beforehand. We can seat only fifty. There are, of course, invitations to be issued, and they must all arrive on the same day else any guest feel slighted by learning another had received his or her invitation first. The gardeners must be certain that there are plenty of fresh flowers from the greenhouses for the hallway, the drawing room, the dining room, the ballroom. What cannot be supplied by our greenhouses must be begged from neighbors. We will have to hire young men and women from the village to help out as maids and footmen, and in the kitchens. And musicians, of course! Some of our guests may be invited to remain overnight, and so there must be bedrooms prepared for them."

"There is a great deal of detail to it, isn't there?" Calandra said, suddenly not quite so enthusiastic. "Can we not hire someone to do it all? And what of a seamstress? I will certainly need a new ball gown. I can hardly greet my guest in an old ball gown."

"Since none of our guests will have seen any of your ball gowns, Calandra, I do not understand why you need another one," Valerian said dryly.

She glared at him. "Do not be such a pinchpenny with me, sir. I will not embarrass myself by appearing in an old ball gown."

"Then you shall not," he said, "nor shall any of my ladies. A seamstress shall be called in to make ball gowns for you and Aurora and Grandmama. It is only fair, I think."

"What a fine idea!" his grandmother said, a twinkle in her eye.

"I do not really need another gown," Aurora said, "but I will not refuse your kind offer, Valerian. Perhaps, Cally, you will let me help you and Lady Mary Rose to repay my lord duke's kindness."

"Oh, yes! You were always better than I in matters like this," Cally said, delighted that her sister had volunteered her services. Perhaps she would not be angry at Aurora any longer. "Mama always said you were good at planning entertainments."

Well, thought the dowager, I will have some help in this endeavor, for she had quickly seen that Calandra was going to be absolutely no help at all to her. Aurora, on the other hand, would certainly be of value, and, the dowager suspected, probably had an eye for detail.

The following day was Sunday, and they traveled down into Farminster village to church. It was March, and a brisk breeze blew across the fields. Some of the trees were beginning to show signs of leafing, their buds plump and exhibiting green. Here and there, clumps of bright yellow daffodils were in bloom. The coach horses stepped smartly down the road, drawing up before St. Anne's. A footman jumped down from the rear of the coach where he had been riding, and opening the door, lowered the steps. Holding out his hand, he helped the ladies to exit the vehicle. The gentlemen had ridden, and were even now dismounting.

The dowager led the way, nodding to this side and that as the villagers greeted her, the women curtsying, the men doffing their caps as she and her companions passed. Now and then she would stop a moment to greet someone by name. As they reached the porch of the stone church, her sharp eye spied the women she had been seeking.

"Ahhh," the dowager said, smiling toothily, "my dear Lady Bowen. How'd ye do? And your lovely daughters too, I see, and Master William. A lovely day, isn't it? Have you met my grandson's wife, the young duchess?"

Lady Bowen was a tiny, birdlike creature with pale blue eyes and sandy-brown curls. She curtsied. "How nice it is to see your ladyship again," she twittered, for she found the dowager formidable. "No, I haven't met the duchess yet." Her eyes darted between the two girls.

Mary Rose Hawkesworth drew Calandra forward. "Calandra, Duchess of Farminster, Lady Elsie Bowen, the vicar's wife."

Lady Bowen curtsied while Cally nodded coolly as she had seen her London friends do when presented with someone of a lower station.

"And this is the duchess's sister, Miss Aurora Spencer-Kimberly," the dowager continued, more pleased when Aurora held out her hand, curtsied prettily, and greeted Lady Bowen politely, than she had been with Calandra's high tone and slightly insulting manner. She turned, calling, "Valerian, come and bid Lady Bowen a good morning before we go in to services, and bring George." And when the two men came and the duke had done his grandmother's bidding, the old lady introduced George to the Bowens. First Lady Bowen, and then her son, William, a freckle-faced lad, who if the gossip had it correct was a little hellraiser, and his mother's despair. "And here, dear George, we have Miss Elizabeth, Miss Isabelle, Miss Suzanne, Miss Caroline, and Miss Maryanne Bowen. Such pretty girls, Lady Bowen," she complimented their mother, "and all very accomplished, I am told. You are a fortunate parent indeed, and will certainly find husbands for them all when they are old enough."

"Oh," Lady Bowen twittered, "Betsy is quite old enough now!"

"Is she indeed?" the dowager purred, and then with a nod she beckoned her family into the church.

"Really, Mama!" Elizabeth Bowen was outraged, and not just a trifle embarrassed by her mother's enthusiasm.

"Well, you are old enough for marriage," her mother protested, "and I am told that Mr. Spencer-Kimberly is looking for a wife. He will return to the western Indies, where he has been raised to continue to manage St. Timothy island plantation when he finds a suitable mate. He has an inheritance and an income, I am told. Would it be so terrible if he found you attractive and offered for you, Betsy?"

"How on earth do you obtain all this information, and so quickly?" Betsy Bowen asked her mother. "Why, the duke and his family only just returned this week to Farminster, Mama."

"I have my sources," her parent replied smugly. "Remember, Betsy, you are not the only eligible in the neighborhood, and I have heard whispers of a ball in May at the hall. A fine young man like Mr. Spencer-Kimberly will be snapped up quickly, my girl, and your dowry is not so large that you can afford to turn up your nose at such a prize."

"Mama! Mama! The organist is about to begin the processional," William Bowen cried to his mother.

"Gracious, thank you, Willie. Come, girls! We are late!" And Lady Bowen, skirts flying, hurried into the church with her family. Quickly taking their places in the front two pews, opposite the duke's private pew, they took up their hymnals and began to sing. Betsy Bowen could not resist glancing over into the duke's pew at George. He did look nice, and he had greeted her, and each of her sisters, most politely by name. He didn't appear at all high-flown or overproud. If only Mama wouldn't embarrass her by pushing her at him. I had best take matters into my own hands before that happens, she thought to herself.

When the service was over and they walked from the church, Betsy managed to maneuver herself so that she was walking next to George Spencer-Kimberly. "Do you ride, sir?" she asked him. "We have such lovely countryside hereabouts."

"Perhaps you would show it to me," he responded, "if, of course, your parents would permit it, Miss Elizabeth." He liked this girl already. She wasn't silly or flirtatiously vain like the girls he had met in London. She was straightforward, and looked to be sensible.

"Mama, Mr. Spencer-Kimberly would like to ride with me one morning if he has your permission," Betsy called to her mother.

Lady Bowen was astounded. Good Lord, how had Betsy elicited that invitation? Pray God she hadn't been forward, and Mr. Spencer-Kimberly thought her a lightskirt. "I shall have to speak to your papa, Betsy," she told her daughter, and then, "Will you come to tea today, Mr. Spencer-Kimberly? We should be so pleased to receive you. Five o'clock, at the vicarage."

"I should be pleased, ma'am," George answered Lady Bowen.

"Oh, Lord," Betsy muttered beneath her breath.

"I promise not to hold your mama against you, Miss Elizabeth," George murmured with a low chuckle.

Startled, her eyes met his, and Betsy blushed, then said, "You understand, don't you?"

He nodded. "I have a doting and anxious mama too." Then he bowed to her, tipping his hat. "Until this afternoon," he said.

He is really too good to be true, Betsy thought, amazed at her good fortune. If he really is wonderful, we shall be engaged by the time that ball is held in May, else I lose him to some other girl! She stood watching as George rode off with the duke.

"How did you get him to ask you riding?" her sister Isabelle asked, coming to stand beside Betsy. Isabelle was fifteen. "Mama is ready to have an attack of the vapors, else he think you loose."

"I simply asked if he rode and said we had pretty countryside," Betsy said, linking her arm in Isabelle's as they walked to the vicarage.

"Do you think I'll be invited to the duke's ball?" the younger girl wondered. "Oh, I should so like to go, Betsy! I've never been to a ball in my whole life, and it's bound to be elegant."

"Well," her sister considered, "you will be sixteen on the thirtieth of April, sweeting. If you are included in the invitation, I will take your part with Mama. Papa is always easy to manage."

"Oh, Betsy! You are the very best sister possible!" Isabelle said. Then she waved at the dowager as the ducal coach passed by on its way back to the hall.

Mary Rose Hawkesworth waved back. "Pretty chits, aren't they?" she said to her two companions. "Of course, Isabelle is too young for George, but Elizabeth would be most suitable, and I believe she likes him. Did you notice how cleverly she managed to get him to ask her riding, and now he is to go to tea at the vicarage this afternoon. I am most pleased," she finished, and, smiling, sat back in her seat.

"The church is small," Calandra noted.

"It is a country church, Cally, and quite charming," Aurora said. "Certainly there are none larger on Barbados, I'm certain."

"Who cares about Barbados" was her answer. "We've never been anyway, so we cannot know. The churches in London, however, are much bigger than St. Anne's, and far grander."

"Did you go to services in any of them?" Aurora teased her sister. "I mean, before George and I arrived. In fact, if memory serves me, you did not go with us at all while we were in London."

"You couldn't expect me to get up and go to church after having been dancing until dawn most nights," Cally said irritably.

"How fortuitous, then, that you shall not have that problem here in the country," the dowager said sharply. "We attend church each Sunday, Calandra. It is up to us to set an example for our people."

"I thought the vicar's sermon quite good," Aurora said.

"He preaches well," Lady Hawkesworth agreed.

"It was short," Cally said.

Aurora bit her lip to keep from laughing.

The days flew by. Spring had come in all its glory. George had made a success with the Bowens and now rode daily with Betsy, staying away from the hall, and spending more time at the vicarage as the weeks progressed. It was obvious that romance was in the air even if their brother had not said anything yet to confirm their suspicions.

"I think he means to offer for her," Aurora said to Calandra one afternoon as they wrote out the invitations for the ball. "I will miss him when he returns to St. Timothy, won't you?"

Cally nodded. "We've been together our whole lives except for those few months when I first came to England. It will seem strange not seeing George. Will you go too, Aurora? I don't want you to go. Not now! Especially not now! I couldn't bear it if you left me alone!"

"Why are you so unhappy?" Aurora asked her sister bluntly.

"It is Valerian," Cally whispered. "He is such a beast! I just want to go back to London, but he will not let me. He makes me perform the act each night. I have told him I don't want children. I just want to go back to London and have fun!"

"Cally, Cally," her sister chided her. "Children are the fruit of a marriage. If you didn't want children, you should not have married Valerian. I know your husband is a good man. Give him his children and he will let you return to London for the season."

"I want to live there all the time," Cally said. "And if I hadn't married him, you would have had to do so. Besides, I wanted to be a duchess, Aurora, and you didn't! Oh, why do I even talk to you about this? How can you understand? You are a silly little virgin, but one day you will understand how horrible it is to have a man in your bed, pawing at you, and pushing himself into your body. I hate it!"

Calandra's face was a mask of revulsion and disgust, and Aurora was hard put not to shiver. "Mama did not seem to mind having Papa in her bed," she said softly.

"Some women like it," Cally said darkly, "but I do not. If I cannot escape this horror soon, I shall go mad."

"If you could just have a child," Aurora said. "I know you would feel different if you had a child of your own, Cally."

The invitations were dispatched, and there was not one refusal. Everyone in the adjoining area was eager to come to Hawkes Hill Hall on May first for the ball being given by the Duke and Duchess of Farminster. Many of their neighbors had not yet met Calandra, for she had fled back to London soon after arriving in the country the previous year. There had been gossip, however, for everyone had a relation or friend in London society. And then, too, the duchess had an older brother, and a younger sister, both eligible, and both, if the tittle-tattle was to be believed, with very nice incomes. It was surprising, however, the scandalmongers chattered, that neither of these siblings had found mates in London. Obviously they were not attractive, or possibly a little too colonial for high society. Such things, of course, could be overlooked by a more practical country lady or gentleman.

Calandra had done little except help with the invitations. Her sole focus had been on the gown she would wear. Aurora had helped the dowager with all the fine details, overseeing the refurbishing of the ballroom, helping to choose the flowers and then working with herself and the housekeeper to arrange them, sending to London for the musicians. The dowager had chosen those fortunate few who would come to dinner; and invited the vicar, Lady Elsie, and their two eldest daughters to stay overnight. George had already informed his benefactress that he intended asking Miss Elizabeth Bowen to be his wife, and the dowager duchess had already ascertained that the Bowens would approve the match if it pleased their eldest daughter. George would speak to them formally the afternoon of the ball.

As the day of the ball approached, Calandra grew more and more excited. Her gown was finished, and, she declared, was a triumph that would be envied by every one of her female guests. Of rose-colored silk, it had a deeply scooped neckline that would allow her alabaster bosom to swell provocatively. The underskirt was of cloth of gold with embroidered silk roses. Gold lace and silk roses edged the neckline. Gold lace dripped from her sleeves. Her gold kid shoes had pink rosettes on them, and her silk stockings were gold and rose stripes. Her dark hair, with its single elegant curl, would he dressed with fresh roses. She would wear pear-shaped pearl earbobs, and a strand of large pearls about her throat. The pearls dated back to Elizabethan times, and had been hidden away during the Commonwealth era. It was a showy touch, for women in this day wore little jewelry, but Calandra didn't care. What was jewelry for but to wear. Not keep in some dark vault!

"Isn't your gown a bit short," Aurora said, noting that the skirt of the ball gown seemed skimpy.

"It is the latest style!" Cally crowed. "A ball gown should come only to the ankle, so one can dance comfortably. We shall be more in style than any of our guests."

"Practical," the dowager said thoughtfully. Then, "A lady does not make her guests feel uncomfortable for any reason, Calandra."

"No, ma'am," Cally replied, flushing with irritation at having been rebuked by the old woman. She fingered the silk on the dress form.

"And what of your gown, child?" the dowager asked Aurora.

Aurora removed the dust sheet from the second form to reveal a gown of aquamarine silk, its chiffon underskirt painted with silver stars. Small silver lace stars decorated the rounded neckline, and the blue-green chiffon and lace sleeves.

"Why, it matches your eyes," the dowager said, delighted. "It is charming. You shall be the two prettiest ladies at the ball, I vow. Do you have the proper panniers and petticoats?"

"Yes, ma'am," Cally responded. "The seamstress brought an excellent selection of both, and we have already chosen."

"And your jewelry, Aurora? What will you wear?"

"Just my little gold chain, ma'am," the girl said.

"I have a pair of aquamarine drops that will be perfect with your gown," the dowager said. "While Calandra will be the finest peahen in the family, you should not appear too plain. After all, we are seeking the proper gentleman for you, am I not correct, Calandra?"

"I certainly agree, ma'am," Cally answered, hiding the jealousy she felt over her husband's grandmother giving Aurora family jewelry to wear. Still, Aurora should have something. Smiling, she said, "And your gown, ma'am? What have you had made for yourself?"

"Nothing as fine as what you two girls have," the dowager replied. "My gown is of a deep blue silk the seamstress said is called Midnight in Morocco. I do not need to show such fine feathers any longer. After all, I am an old woman," Mary Hawkesworth finished. "I have no desire to catch myself a husband."

The Bowens and their two elder daughters arrived in late morning the day of the ball. The younger daughter was almost ill with excitement.

Aurora immediately took Isabelle in hand. "It's just a dancing party," she reassured the girl. "We went to them every night when we were in London. I was constantly exhausted. You will have a marvelous time, I promise you. How pretty you are. You shall take all the beaus, and I am already eighteen. Practically an old maid!"

"Ohhh," Isabelle said, "I am nowhere near as pretty as you are, Miss Spencer-Kimberly. Will you sit with me tonight?"

"Of course," Aurora replied, patting the younger girl's hand.

"Do you think your brother is going to propose to my sister?" Isabelle asked ingenuously. "My parents have been doing a lot of whispering lately, and grow silent when any of us girls are about. Betsy is quite mad over George, you know, Miss Spencer-Kimberly. I think he is wonderful too. I wish I weren't just sixteen."

"But you are," Aurora said, "and there is plenty of time for some handsome gentleman to steal your heart, Isabelle. Now, why don't you call me Aurora." She lowered her voice. "We are almost family."

"We are?" Isabelle squealed, and then she too lowered her voice. "Really? Are you certain? Ohhh, I should adore it!"

"Let us let nature take its course, and allow Betsy to be surprised in her own fashion, Isabelle," Aurora suggested. "Come, you must see the gardens. They are lovely right now. Not as exotic as our gardens in St. Timothy, but beautiful in a different way."

Together the two girls exited the house arm in arm.

"What a sweet girl Miss Spencer-Kimberly is," Lady Elsie said to the dowager duchess. "Why, she has put our Isabelle right at ease with whatever she said to her. How kind! What a pity our Willie is so young. She will certainly make some man a fine wife. Have you thought of any prospects for her?"

"No," the reply came. "Aurora is a young woman of definite likes and dislikes. But she does have good sense. I shall allow her to find her own mate, and she will, I am certain, make a good job of it."

Then together the two women went into the drawing room where George and the vicar were awaiting them. Sir Ronald had a broad smile upon his face.

"My dear," he said to his wife, "Mr. Spencer-Kimberly has requested my permission to ask Elizabeth to marry him. I have, of course, given him it. I think we can be certain that Betsy will not be unfavorable to his proposal, eh?" He chuckled broadly. The vicar was a tall, full-figured man with a ruddy complexion and sandy hair.

"Oh, my dear boy!" Lady Elsie cried, dabbing at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief.

"Go and find the chit, George," the dowager said sharply, "and get it over with before we are all prostrate with the excitement."

Grinning, George bowed to the trio and hurried off to find his intended, who was in the hallway, directing the unloading of her family's baggage coach with particular emphasis on the trunk that held the ball gowns.

"Come along, Betsy!" he told her. "Peters will see that everything is perfect, I promise you, won't you, Peters?"

"Indeed, sir" was the reply. "I shall have the gowns unpacked immediately, and pressed, Miss Bowen."

"Thank you," Betsy called as she allowed George to drag her out the door into the sunshine. "Where are we going?" she asked him.

"You'll see," he said, leading her through the house's beautiful gardens, past the lake, and into a lovely marble summerhouse that overlooked the water. Seating her upon a marble bench, George knelt upon one knee. "Miss Bowen," he began, "er, Betsy. Will you do me the honor… the supreme honor, of becoming my wife?"

"Yes," said Betsy Bowen.

"We cannot remain in England," George continued earnestly. "I must return to St. Timothy very soon. We would have to make our life there in the western Indies, not that we couldn't occasionally visit England."

"Yes," replied Betsy Bowen.

"It is a very isolated life, as I have previously explained. You will have little female company but for my mother and the servants. Of course we can go to Barbados, and Jamaica, to socialize whenever possible."

"George, get off your knees," Betsy Bowen told him. "I love you. I will most certainly marry you. I understand that life on St. Timothy will not be anything like life here in Herefordshire, but I know I will be happy because we will be there together."

He stumbled to his feet. "You will marry me?"

"Yes, George, I will," she replied. Men were so dense. "Where is my betrothal ring? I wish to wear it tonight and dazzle all the girls who have come to cast their nets at you. They will be most disappointed. Shall we have Papa officially announce our engagement? When will we marry? It must be fairly soon, I expect."

"We don't have to return to St. Timothy until late autumn," he said. "From June until then there is danger of severe storms. We should leave probably in early November. That way we will be home in time for Christmas. That would please my mother very much," he told her.

"Do you think your mama will like me?" Betsy wondered.

"I know she will!" he said happily, and then he drew forth a ring from his pocket and placed it on her finger. "It isn't very large, for I am not a rich man," he explained.

Betsy looked down at the round pink pearl which was surrounded by diamonds. She held her hand out, admiring the ring. Then, looking up at George, she smiled through her tears. "It's beautiful!" she said.

"You're crying," he exclaimed, quickly sitting next to her and placing a comforting arm about her shoulders.

"I am so happy," she said. "Will you not kiss me, George? I believe it is the traditional thing to do under these circumstances."

Gently he brushed the tears from her cheek, and then George tenderly kissed Betsy Bowen's pursed pink lips. It was not the first time they had kissed, and he always enjoyed it greatly when their mouths met. This petite young woman with her dark blond curls, and her big gray-blue eyes, had the most astounding physical effect upon him. She was sweet as sugar water, and as warm as whiskey going down his throat. He had chosen well, he knew. Betsy would be a good and loving wife. Standing, he raised her up. "Let us go and tell your parents and my sisters of out happiness," he said to her.

She nodded, and hand in hand they walked back to the house, where the dowager had already gathered together her grandson, Aurora, Calandra, the Bowens, and Isabelle in the drawing room in anticipation of the announcement to come. Mary Rose Hawkesworth was very pleased with herself. She had engineered George's introduction to Elizabeth Bowen quite well, and it had all turned out exactly as she had hoped. Now, despite her protestations to the contrary, she intended to have a hand in picking a husband for Aurora, but she would be very clever again so the girl would not know of her interference.

The drawing room door opened, and George and Betsy entered.

"We have something to tell you all," George said with a wide smile, and he put his arm about Betsy, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind what his revelation was to be.

^{Chapter 7}

Carriage after carriage pulled up the torchlit drive leading to Hawkes Hill Hall, stopping before the main entry to the house. Footmen raced forward to open the coach doors and draw down the steps. Gloved hands were offered to each vehicle's occupants, steadying them as they dismounted from their transport. Ball gowns were shaken free of wrinkles, real or imaginary. Hairdos were patted to assure perfection despite the ride from home to hall.

Within the front door of the house, in the large main hallway, servants hurried forth to take capes and cloaks. The guests ascended the wide main staircase of the house to where the Duke and Duchess of Farminster were awaiting them, along with the dowager, Aurora, and George. The visitors passed along the receiving line, and finally into the ballroom, gasping at the beauty of it. The crystal chandeliers sparkled. There were flowers everywhere in large stone urns. Usually a ballroom had its corners blocked by painted screens behind which were commodes, should the call of nature make a visit necessary.

"Not in my ballroom," Calandra had declared. "By evening's end the entire ballroom will stink to high heaven."

"You must provide for your guests' comfort," the dowager said.

"There are two large cloakrooms on either side of the ballroom," Calandra said. "I have thoroughly inspected them, and both are quite suitable. We shall use them as necessaries, one for the gentlemen and one for the ladies. We shall have lady's maids and footmen attending to our guests, and the ballroom shall remain free of noxious odors."

"What an excellent idea!" the dowager approved. "The cloaks and capes can be put in the main closet room in the front hall. Very good, my girl! Very good indeed! That's the kind of thinking we need from a Duchess of Farminster."

And so it had been arranged. Footmen and maidservants were stationed about the ballroom at discreet intervals so those in dire need might inquire as to the location of the commodes. At one end of the ballroom a dais had been set up for the musicians, who were currently playing light music. The dancing would not begin until the duke and duchess had greeted their guests. It had been decided not to have a pre-ball dinner for specified guests. Only the family and the Bowens had eaten in the dining room that evening.

Calandra was on her absolute best behavior. She had never given a ball before, but she had closely observed the London hostesses who had, and envied them. Now she was the one giving the ball, and everyone was saying how beautiful everything had looked, and how elegant it all was. Well, of course these country people would be impressed by the simplicity of her arrangements, but if she were in London, it would have been so much better. A tiny wave of nausea swept over her, and she closed her eyes a moment. She should definitely not have eaten the prawns this evening.

"I believe all our guests have arrived, dear," the duke said to her. "It is time for us to open the ball." Taking her by the arm, he led her into the ballroom.

"Let the vicar make his announcement first," Calandra said. "If he does not, there will be a great deal of tittle-tattle about the attention George is paying to Betsy."

The duke nodded, agreeing with his wife, and spoke softly to Sir Ronald. Then in the company of the vicar they made their way to the dais. The conductor signaled to the guests with a flourish of music, and then the duke held up his hand.

"My friends, before we begin the dance, the vicar has a word or two to say to you all."

Sir Ronald cleared his throat, and then without further ado said, "Lady Elsie and I are most happy to announce the betrothal of our eldest daughter, Elizabeth, to Mr. George Spencer-Kimberly, elder brother of her grace, the Duchess of Farminster. The wedding will be celebrated in late October, as George must return to the Indies shortly thereafter. I hope you will be as pleased for the happy couple as my wife and I are." He then bowed to the assembled audience and stepped down.

Almost immediately Betsy, George, and Lady Elsie were overwhelmed by congratulations from the other guests, difficult for many mamas with eligible daughters. They had all come in the hope that their darlings could attract the attentions of Mr. Spencer-Kimberly. Now, here was that Bowen girl, with her modest dowry, snapping up the finest prize to come into the neighborhood in years, and before anyone else even had a chance. It was really most unfair!

But the music began, and the duke and duchess led off the ball with a minuet, which would be the most sophisticated dance danced all evening. Mostly they would dance the merry and lively country dances. Cally had hired a dancing master to teach her, George, and Aurora so they would not seem backward; but for now she tripped brightly to the sprightly music of the minuet with her husband, and for a brief moment she was happy and content again.

Valerian glanced at her, and thought how lovely she was. If only her heart had not been so cold, he might have loved her. He saw George dancing with Betsy, and thought how happy they looked. He saw Aurora, in the gown that matched her lovely eyes, dancing with Justin St. John, a childhood friend and distant cousin. Even his grandmother was dancing with old General Tremayne, who was now master of the local hunt. It had been well over a year since his grandfather had died, and it was time she began to socialize again.

The evening wore on, and everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time despite the disappointment of George's unavailability. A buffet was served in the dining room, and the guests wandered in and out, the older folk settling themselves on the available chairs and settees, leaving the floor to the younger members of society.

Calandra was enormously popular with the gentlemen, and had danced every dance, as had Aurora, who was now dancing with the duke.

"You are the most beautiful girl in the room tonight," he told her. "How clever of you to choose a fabric for your gown that matches your lovely aquamarine blue eyes."

"Thank you," Aurora said softly, "but I am not certain that you should be speaking to me this way. Besides, your wife is the most beautiful woman in the room, I think."

"The most beautiful woman, yes," he agreed, "but you are the most beautiful girl." He smiled down into her eyes.

Damn him, Aurora thought as a wave of dizziness swept over her and she stumbled in the dance. His arm tightened about her waist as he swung her around in the romp, a dance peculiar to the area. Regaining her balance, she glared at him. "You are clever, Valerian. Be certain that you do not outmaneuver yourself with your quick wit.

Before he could reply, the music ceased, and Justin St. John was at their side. "I believe the next dance is ours, Aurora," he said with a rakish grin. He was a tall, lean man with chestnut-colored hair and eyes the golden brown hue of excellent sherry. He was nowhere near as handsome as his relative, but he was attractive.

"It seems to me, St. John, that you have danced several times tonight with my sister-in-law. You will, I fear, compromise her reputation," the duke growled, his blue eyes growing darker with his irritation.

"Why, Hawkesworth," his cousin mocked him, "you sound like an overprotective papa, or a rival suitor, but, of course, as a married man you could hardly fill the latter position, now, could you?" The look he shot at the duke was challenging.

"Gentlemen," Aurora said coldly, "you both insult and embarrass me with this public display of bickering." Then she turned and left them, going to the dowager's side, her color high.

"They were rivals from the time they were born," the dowager remarked quietly. "At family gatherings, at school." She sighed. "Who began it this time, my girl?"

"I would say they both did," Aurora replied. "Valerian accused Justin of dancing too much with me, and Justin said Valerian sounded like an overprotective father or a jealous suitor. How dare they both behave as if I were some thing whose possession was to be quarreled over. I censured them both, and both deserved it! How are they related?"

"They share a great-grandfather on the Hawkesworth side," the dowager said. "You did well to put them both down, my girl."

Suddenly a commotion erupted at the far end of the ballroom.

"The duchess has fainted!" they heard someone cry.

Aurora jumped up and ran quickly down the ballroom, almost colliding with the duke as they both hurried to reach Cally's side. She lay in a crumpled heap of rose and gold silk upon the polished floor. The duke picked up his wife and lay her on a nearby settee.

"Is Dr. Michaels still here?" he asked.

Aurora knelt by her sister's side, patting her hand and calling softly to her. "Calandra! Calandra! Are you all right?"

Cally slowly opened her eyes. "What happened?" she asked.

A ruddy-faced man pushed his way through the guests. "Now, what has happened to her grace?" he said in brusk tones, taking Cally's hand and checking her pulse. "Someone fetch her maid," he said.

"It was the prawns," Cally told the doctor. "I knew I should not have eaten them. Very little has agreed with me lately, but they looked so very delicious, and I was so desperately hungry."

"I could not help but notice your grace's appetite at the buffet this evening," the doctor responded, feeling her forehead.

"I know it is so indelicate of me," Cally told him, "but of late I cannot get enough to eat, yet I feel constantly empty and queasy."

Sally had been fetched, and now came to stand by her mistress's side. She had a decidedly worried look about her. "Is she all right, Miss Aurora?" Sally asked nervously.

"This is her grace's maid," Aurora told the doctor.

He turned and beckoned to Sally, and when she stood next to him, he whispered something to her. For a moment Sally thought, and then she murmured low to the doctor. The doctor turned to them.

"It is as I suspected," he said quietly to the duke and Aurora. “Hcr grace is undoubtedly with child. Your lordship will, I can happily say, be a father before the year's end. May I offer you both my congratulations."

Cally began to cry softly.

"Tears of happiness," Dr. Michaels pronounced. "I've seen it many times. Dry your eyes, my dear lady, your prayers are answered."

"If you say one word to embarrass Valerian, I shall kill you," Aurora murmured softly to her sister.

"Do not leave me!" Cally begged her sister.

"I will remain at Hawkes Hill as long as you want me to stay," Aurora assured her sister. "Now, smile at your husband."

Cally obeyed her sister, smiling tremulously at the duke, who had a stunned look upon his handsome face.

Aurora arose to her feet. "Is this not what you wanted, Valerian?" she asked him quietly. "My sister is giving you an heir."

"Yes! Yes!" he said, and then turning to his guests, he told them, "The duchess has just fainted. It would appear, according to Dr. Michaels, that my wife will give me an heir by year's end!"

The room erupted into a cacophony of congratulations.

"Well," the Dowager Countess of Kempe said to the Dowager Duchess of Farminster, "this has been a most exciting and fortuitous evening for your family, my dear Mary Rose. A betrothal and the impending arrival of a Hawkesworth heir. Certainly you must be happy."

"Indeed," the dowager said, smiling broadly. "I am delighted I have lived long enough to see a great-grandchild. Well, I shall," she amended with a chuckle. "Valerian," she called, "I think it is time that we sent everyone home so that Calandra can be put to bed."

The duke did not have to say anything, for the guests heartily agreed, and were already taking their leave of their host and hostess. Calandra was now seated demurely upon the settee, accepting their compliments and their thanks for a wonderful evening. Valerian stood by her side. George and Betsy had been out on the terrace when Calandra had swooned, and had only just come in. Aurora quickly filled them in on the events that had taken place while they had sat beneath the moon, planning their future. They added their congratulations to the many already received.

"Mama will be absolutely delighted to learn she is to be a grandmother," George said.

"Remain until the baby is born," Cally begged him.

"I cannot, sweeting. I must be home to oversee the harvesting of the cane. It is with apprehension that I have left the planting of the Kimberly fields to their foremen under Mother's direction. And Mama should not be alone on St. Timothy with only servants for company for any longer than necessary. I would leave England earlier, Cally, but that the storm season is practically upon us, and I don't want Betsy to experience a rough voyage if I can avoid it. Aurora will be with you, and you will be just fine, little sister."

The guests were all gone now, and Valerian Hawkesworth picked up his wife in his arms and carried her upstairs to her bedchamber. Setting her down in a chair by the fire, he said quietly, "You are now free of my attentions, Calandra. You have my gratitude for what you are doing. Deliver my heir safely, and my generosity and tolerance will be almost boundless," he promised her.

"Almost?" She looked seriously at him.

"Whatever you do, madam, I expect no scandal," he said quietly. "As for the rest of the terms of our arrangement, we can discuss them after our child is born. We are civilized people, are we not?"

"What if it is a daughter?" she inquired nervously.

"Then after a season in London, to which I will accompany you, we will return to Hawkes Hill to make another attempt."

Calandra shuddered openly.

"Boys run in the family, my dear," he said. "I think you will be fairly safe from my unwelcome attentions." He bowed politely and exited her rooms.

Downstairs again, he found that George and Betsy, as well as the other Bowens, had disappeared, but his grandmother stood in the hallway while Aurora said good night to Justin St. John.

"Will you ride with me tomorrow?" St. John said, smiling down at her in a proprietary way the duke found extremely irritating.

"It is tomorrow," laughed Aurora. "I am exhausted, and shall spend most of the day in bed. The day after, perhaps." She turned to the dowager. "May I, ma'am? Would it be all right?"

"Of course, my dear, but not too early, St. John. Nine o'clock will do very nicely. Remember me to your mama. I am sorry she was unable to attend tonight. You must arrange to bring her to tea some day quite soon. Perhaps when the weather is warmer."

"Thank you, ma'am," he replied. Then he kissed the dowager's hand, and lastly Aurora's, lingering over hers a trifle longer than he should have. "Good night, my lovely goddess of the dawn," he said softly, but not so softly the others didn't hear.

Aurora blushed at the unexpected compliment.

"Get along with you, you young rogue!" the dowager scolded.

Releasing Aurora's hand, St. John replied, "Good night, Cousin Valerian. I had a very good time, I vow. Congratulations upon the impending birth of your heir. You will give the duchess my kindest regards?" Then with a final bow he was gone through the door.

"Impudent puppy!" snapped the duke. "Are you sure, Grandmama, that it is proper for Aurora to ride with that devil. I do not think it wise at all. Two grooms must go with them."

"Two?" Aurora said, surprised.

"One groom will be quite enough, Valerian," the dowager said sharply, looking at her grandson.

"I am far too tired to argue," Aurora said. "I am going to bed. Is Cally still awake, Valerian?"

"She was when I came down," he answered her.

"Then I shall stop in and say good night," Aurora replied, and she hurried up the staircase.

"Come into the drawing room with me," the dowager commanded her grandson. "I must speak with you."

The lights in the drawing room had already been extinguished, but a bright fire burned. Standing just past the closed door to the room, Mary Rose Hawkesworth said to the duke, "Aurora must be married, and St. John is a suitable prospect if he pleases her. I will not allow your boyhood rivalry to interfere, Valerian. Do I make myself clear?"

"You have already decided on St. John, haven't you?" he responded.

"It is not up to me, my boy, it is up to Aurora," she answered him in prim tones.

"Grandmama, do not fence with me. I know you well. You very carefully engineered George and Betsy's rapprochement, and do not deny it. Oh, I will not tell on you, never fear. It is a good match, but I do not believe that Justin St. John is a good match for Aurora." The duke went to the sideboard and poured himself a large whiskey.

"You have a wife, Valerian," Mary Rose Hawkesworth said quietly.

Her grandson spun around, a shocked look upon his face.

"Do not deny that you are attracted to Aurora," his grandmother continued. "Oh, you are usually discreet, but I see how you look at her when you believe that no one else is observing you, and I believe that of the two girls, she would have been the better wife for you; but you married Calandra, and she is now expecting your child. That, my dear boy, settles it. I know that Calandra is a cold-hearted little bitch. I am astounded you have managed to impregnate her, but you have. As you cannot have both girls, and Calandra is your wife, Aurora must be married to another man. Do not interfere with me, Valerian," the dowager warned her grandson sternly.

"Do not interfere with me, Grandmama," he replied calmly. "I am the head of this family, and if I decide that a gentleman shall not wed Aurora, then he shall not."

"And if she loves him, Valerian? What then, my boy?"

"Aurora could not possibly fall in love with St. John," he said with complete assurance.

"Perhaps not, but there will be some man who surely catches her fancy in the next few months. You will have no choice but to stand by and watch as she picks a husband, Valerian," his grandmother said.

"We will see," the duke answered her.

"If you cause a scandal, or hurt either of those girls, I will never forgive you," the dowager threatened him.

"Surely, madam, you know me better than that," the duke said.

The old lady shook her head. "I am not certain I know you at all now. There is no way you can escape your marriage, Valerian. Perhaps if she had not proved fertile, you might have found a way, but not now. Calandra is with child. Your child. The Fifth Duke of Farminster will enter this world before the new year. That is an undisputed fact."

He did not respond to her words, and turning, the dowager exited the drawing room for her own chambers. As she passed Calandra's bedroom, she could hear soft laughter, and she smiled. Thank goodness for Aurora. She would keep that flighty chit her grandson was married to on the straight and narrow during her pregnancy, and there would be a healthy child. But afterward? Who knew what arrangement Valerian had made with his wife in order to elicit her cooperation, if indeed she had cooperated with him at all. It was so terribly unfortunate.

Valerian Hawkesworth remained standing in the drawing room where she had left him. He stared into the fire, cradling the whiskey glass in his hands. What did it matter that Calandra and he had little use for each other. There would be a child, an heir, to follow him, and wasn't that what he wanted, as Aurora had asked him earlier. Wasn't it enough? It didn't matter that Calandra would live out her frivolous life in London going from party to party like a bee going from flower to flower. He would have his son. If his mother would not be there for him, his father would. And his grandmother, and his aunt Aurora.

Aurora. His grandmother was right. She would choose a man and marry. The best he could hope for was that she remain nearby so he would not lose her entirely. But he would lose her. He would lose her to a husband, to her own children. Oh, she would be kind to her little nephew, he had no doubt, but Valerian Hawkesworth would not have Aurora. He might have her friendship. Her sympathy. But nothing more, and the problem was that he wanted more. He wanted her.

Damn her for stealing his heart! And damn Calandra that she did not want him! If Calandra had loved him, it could have been different. No. It would not have been different, he had to admit to himself. He was in love with Aurora Spencer-Kimberly. He had never been in love with his wife, and he never would be. He would never capture the heart of either of these women, but at least he would have his son. It didn't seem enough, but it would have to be, he knew.

As for his cousin, Justin St. John, he wondered if St. John was really attracted to Aurora, or if he was simply playing with the girl to annoy Hawkesworth. He didn't want Aurora hurt, yet how could he forbid her St. John's company? He couldn't. The thought, however, of his cousin making love to Aurora infuriated him. He would watch St. John closely to determine his intentions, and in this effort, he knew, he would be ably assisted by his grandmother. She would not want Aurora harmed, or her heart broken by a cad, even if the scoundrel was a blood relation. The duke turned from the fire and placed his whiskey tumbler on the silver tray from where he had originally taken it. Then with a sigh he left the drawing room, seeking his own bed. A lonely bed.

Aurora heard him pass by her bedroom door. By now she knew his step. She was angry at the duke. Angry that he made Cally so unhappy, although she knew that most of the fault lay with her sister. She was angry at him that a compliment from his lips could cause her heart to race. That those intense blue eyes could make her knees go weak when he looked meaningfully at her. She wondered what it would have been like if she had married him. Would he have made her as unhappy as he was making Cally? No. Cally's problems stemmed from her inability to enjoy the physical pleasures of the marriage toed. I may be a virgin, Aurora thought to herself, but I know I would enjoy a husband's attentions.

Especially if that husband were Valerian Hawkesworth, the little voice in her head said slyly, and Aurora was suddenly shocked by her own thoughts. She had had her chance to marry the duke, but she had gone out of her way to avoid her deceased father's wishes. She had deliberately deceived Valerian into thinking Cally was his intended bride. No one had forced her to subterfuge. It had all been her own idea. She had bullied Mama into going along with her. George, of course, knew her well enough to realize if Aurora didn't want to do something, she wouldn't, and had in turn done what he believed was best for the family. Both she and Cally had behaved childishly in the whole matter. Now they were going to have to live with the results of their chicanery. It wasn't going to be easy, she knew.

Cally was terrified of being with child, frightened of childbirth, vain about her figure, which she declared was going to be ruined. Had she not been more fearful of Valerian, Aurora believed her sister would have found a way to rid herself of this new life she carried. Fortunately her distaste for the marriage bed was enough to make her behave, because if she lost this child, she would be forced to endure her husband's vigorous attentions once more. If,however, she brought this child to a successful birth, and it was a son-Oh, pray God it was a son!-then she would never again have to face her husband's animal lust, she had said to Aurora.

Aurora considered her sister's words. Animal lust. It actually sounded rather wickedly delicious. She caressed her round breast^ beneath the coverlet, undoing the ribbons that tied her nightgown, and slipping her hand inside the garment to fondle the warm flesh, What would it be like to have a man doing this? She thought of Justin St. John, but his face was almost instantly replaced by that of the duke's. For a moment Aurora felt guilty, but she pushed her guilt aside. It was only pretend, and only she knew what she was thinking. Her nipples grew hard with her thoughts. Sucking her index finger a moment, she began to rub the wetness about the hard little nub, smiling languidly as the familiar tingle began between her legs. Her other hand slipped down to push between the swollen flesh. She was already wet.

Aurora closed her eyes. Her breath was coming in hard little pants, and she struggled to keep the sound low lest she awaken Martha. She imagined a dark head on her breast, and tugged suggestively at her nipple. Would his mouth feel like that, or would it be much more wonderful than she could even imagine? The index finger of her right hand found that sensitive spot hidden within her nether lips, and she teased at it. What would it be like to lay naked in a bed with the man you loved? To feel his weight on you? To have your bare breasts crushed against his hard chest? To have his member inside you? Aurora worked her finger fiercely against her pleasure nub, and suddenly the lovely melting feeling swept over her, leaving her almost breathless with her release. Tonight, however, it wasn't quite enough, and she didn't understand why. It had always been enough before.

Aurora couldn't sleep. What was the matter with her? It was probably the excitement of the ball. It had been a lovely time, made even more so by the knowledge that she had contributed so much to the preparation. She had very much enjoyed helping the dowager, and she had learned a great deal of what was expected of the wife of a well-to-do man with a big house. There had been no parties or balls on St. Timothy. Her father had taken his pleasure in Jamaica or Barbados prior to his marriage, and during the brief period between her mother's death and his remarriage to Oralia. Unless there were other families on an island, society was scant.

It was not so here in England. They were a very social people, and she had to admit that she frankly enjoyed it. Not London society, as Cally had, but this country life suited Aurora very well. In the weeks since she had first arrived, she had ridden with her brother and Betsy, gone on several picnics with the Bowen sisters and their friends, and played tennis on the grass. The country families were friendly, and while proud of their lineage, they were not snobbish like the London society folk she had met.

If I meet a man I can love, and marry him, I shall always live in the country, Aurora decided. If she met a man. Well, she had met several nice gentlemen this evening who appeared eager to know her better. Me, or my dowry? she considered suspiciously. Of course, Justin St. John didn't need her dowry or her income. He was, according to the dowager, comfortably off in his own right.

"Sheep," the dowager said. "The family has the largest flocks in the area. Always did. They sell the wool in the open market, and poor Valerian has to pay a higher price to get it for his mills than if St. John would make a private arrangement with him. Of course, the rogue does it deliberately to irritate my grandson." She chuckled. "I keep telling Valerian that the best way to outfox St. John is to increase the size of his own flocks so he wouldn't need his cousin's wool."

So St. John's motives could not be disputed. If he showed an interest in Aurora, it had to be because he found her attractive, she decided. And he was attractive. Not in the brooding, dark way that Valerian was, but in a prettier, no, that was not a word one should use when describing a man. Softer? He didn't have that fierce, be-damned-to-you look the duke had. St. John laughed easily, as the tiny lines about his eyes and mouth indicated. It would be interesting getting to know him better, provided, of course, that he pursued his interest in her, but the dowager seemed to believe he would.

Aurora shifted onto her left side. She was finally beginning to get sleepy. Outside her windows, for she had not let Martha draw the draperies, she could see the sky beginning to lighten with the dawn. She really was tired. Her eyelids were very heavy now, and she yawned deeply several times. She tried to think of Justin St. John, but every time she did, Valerian Hawkesworth's handsome face replaced his cousin's. It was disturbing, but she could no longer concentrate, and finally fell asleep, her breathing measured and relaxed.

She slept until well past the noon hour, finally awakening to the sound of a bird outside her windows, singing its heart out. She lay quietly, enjoying the thrilling song. Obviously someone had found his mate, and was ready to build a nest, she chuckled to herself. Languidly she reached for the bellpull and yanked upon it.

"So, you're awake at last," Martha said, bustling into the bedroom. "You're the first up. The old dowager is still snoring her head off, Jane tells me; and the young duchess ain't blinked an eye yet. Tell me about the ball, and that Mr. St. John you met. Is he nice?"

"He seems to be," Aurora said. Then, "I want tea, Martha, and something to eat. I am ravenous!"

"Right away, miss. They say that Mr. St. John is very rich, and he don't have anyone but his mother. She's real anxious he take a wife. A girl would be lucky to get a man like that. Big house, big estate, I'm told."

"It seems to me you've been told a lot more than I have." Aurora laughed. "Does he have a mistress?"

"Miss Aurora! What a shocking thing for you to say. Nice girls aren't supposed to know about such women, or such arrangements," Martha scolded her mistress. "Your mama would have a fit to hear you talk like that! I think the young duchess is having a bad effect on you."

"Cally? No, Martha, she isn't. I take everything Cally says with a very large grain of salt. I just wondered why a man as eligible as Mr. St. John hadn't taken a wife yet. It's a reasonable question, I believe. If there is some lady who has captured his heart hiding in the shadows, I would be foolish to waste my time, or allow my heart to be broken. While the dowager thinks him suitable, the duke thinks him a cad. Such divergent opinions pique my curiosity."

"I think I'd listen to the old lady, miss. She does favor you, even more than the young duchess, if you'll forgive my saying so. She wants what's best for you, and will see you ain't hurt."

Martha hurried from the room, returning about a half hour later with a large tray which she set upon the piecrust table by the windows. Helping Aurora into a pretty peach silk dressing gown, she seated her at the table and began removing the silver domes covering the dishes and plates. There was a dish of eggs poached in sherry and heavy cream, a thick slice of country ham, flaky little croissants, a crock of sweet butter, a dish of new peas, a honeycomb, a silver bowl of freshly picked strawberries with a companion bowl of clotted cream, and a pot of tea. Aurora fell upon the food as if she had been starving, and in short order had cleaned up all of the plates and dishes. Sitting back in her chair, she sipped her saucer of tea, a contented smile upon her beautiful face.

"Delicious," she pronounced, "and please tell Cook I said so when you return the tray to the kitchens."

"He'll be pleased to have a compliment, I can tell you, for the young duchess does nothing but complain 'cause he don't fix her fancy meals like in London. Never a word of thanks he gets from her. I don't know where Miss Calandra's manners got to since she's come home to England," Martha grumbled.

"She is just very impressed by what she considers high society," Aurora defended her sister. "Eventually she'll know better."

"Hmmph" was Martha's comment. "Ought to be grateful for what you have done for her, miss, and behave properly like she was taught to do instead of affecting all those la-di-da ways, and Sally as bad."

"I think I shall return to bed," Aurora said. "I am still very tired. Ask Peters if there will be dinner tonight, or if we are to eat on trays. I hope it's trays. It would be lovely not to have to get dressed, and just lay about. I want to finish reading the history of the Hawkesworth family. With all I've been doing these last weeks to help the dowager plan the ball, I have had no time to myself."

"Don't know why you're reading about this family, miss. You ain't going to be part of it," Martha remarked sharply.

"The duke and Mr. St. John are related through a greatgrandfather," Aurora said innocently. "I would like to understand the familial connection, Martha. Besides, you know how much I love history, and this family's history is really wonderful."

"I didn't know the duke and your Mr. St. John was related," Martha said, surprised.

"Well," Aurora teased her maid, "I cannot believe the belowstairs grapevine was so negligent that it didn't inform you of such a pertinent fact about Mr. St. John, who is certainly not mine."

"Not yet," Martha said with a grin. Then she picked up the tray with its empty dishes. "I'll take these down. Are you available for the duchess if Sally asks?"

"Not today, if I can avoid it, Martha. I do not think I can cope with Cally's discontent and whining. And now that she is with child, none of us will have any peace, I suspect, until that poor baby is born. You will remember that Cally has never been an easy patient."

Martha shook her head. "Gawd help us," she agreed as she departed the bedroom carrying the silver tray. "It's going to be as if she was the first and only woman who carried a child, and every little inconvenience will be magnified out of proportion." The door closed behind her.

Aurora chuckled at Martha's astute evaluation of the situation. It was going to be a very interesting few months to come, she decided.

Chapter 8

"It isn't fair!" Calandra, Duchess of Farminster wailed. "It just isn’t isn't fair! I look like some shoat ready to be slaughtered. I can bear no more. I cannot! I want this child to be born!"

It was a glorious late September day, and Cally was sprawled in a chaise upon the lawns leading to the garden. She was one of those rare creatures that pregnancy did not become. Her alabaster skin had grown sallow. Her raven's-wing-black hair was lackluster. Her face and hands were puffy, and unless she remained reclining for a good part of the day, her feet had a tendency to swell. Worse, with almost three more months until she delivered, her belly was quite distended.

Restlessly, her fingers plucked at a small tray of sugar comfits, discarding one, then another, and finally popping the third choice into her mouth. Her hazel eyes narrowed as she watched her sister playing tennis with Justin St. John. Aurora looked absolutely beautiful in the simple Indian calico print gown. It was really a house dress, but equally suitable to such a rough-and-tumble game as tennis. When had Aurora's waist been so supple and slender as it was now? For a brief moment Cally hated her, and then she felt guilty.

Aurora had been so patient and kind all the summer long, and Cally was not so big a fool that she didn't realize it. Still, she found it irritating to watch her sister having such a good time when she could not. Not that it was the sort of good time Cally was truly envious of, for it was not. And the beaus! There had been any number of them Aurora had flirted with and then discarded. But those young men she refused always remained to become her friends. Cally didn't understand it. One thing remained constant, however. Justin St. John. He was not discarded, and Cally doubted he would have gone if he had been. It was becoming very obvious that he intended to make Aurora his wife.

Cally didn't blame her sister for playing the field, for taking her time, for holding back before agreeing to marriage. If only I had really known what was involved in being married, Cally thought, I should not have been so quick to jump. If I hadn't, it would be Aurora who would be lying here, her belly all blown up, while I flirted with all the gentlemen. But then, of course, I shouldn't be a duchess, Cally considered. Still, she was beginning to wonder if it was really worth it just to be the Duchess of Farminster. In retrospect, all she had needed was a rich, doting husband who would let her live in London and become one of its celebrated hostesses. A rich old husband. A man with grown, or half-grown children who would not make unpleasant demands upon her person, but would be satisfied that she was young, and beautiful, and desired by all his friends, who would, of course, envy him his young and beautiful wife. It would be easy to love a man like that, Cally decided. If only she hadn't listened to Aurora. Aurora was really to blame for all of this nastiness.

Cally's eyes narrowed again. Aurora would be sorry soon enough. Justin St. John looked to be very much the same sort of animal that her own husband was. He would make demands upon Aurora, and Aurora would surely suffer, hopefully, even more than Cally had. And, Cally knew, St. John would not take Aurora to London. He would keep her down here in the country, giving her child after child until her beauty was ruined. And I shall be up in London having a wonderful time, Cally thought. Yes! I shall have my revenge eventually. And St. John didn't even have a title! He was simply a wealthy man with good if nebulous connections to the Hawkesworth family, or so Aurora said.

"Are you all right?" the dowager asked as Calandra suddenly winced in pain. The old lady was seated next to the young duchess, acting her usual role of chaperon.

"The little beast just moved again," Cally said. "I hate it when it does that. Fortunately, it is not too often. I feel as if I had swallowed a roast boar whole, ma'am."

"Being enceinte can be uncomfortable at times," the dowager sympathized, although frankly she was sick and tired of Cally's complaints. All the little wretch did was whine, and she was openly counting the days till she could leave Hawkes Hill and return to London. Valerian had made no bones about the fact that when his wife recovered from her childbirth, she could depart. Farminster House would be put at her disposal, along with a suitable staff. She would have an allowance, which hopefully she would live within, and unless the child was a girl, she would not have to return to Hawkes Hill unless she desired to come. A wet nurse was already engaged to feed the baby.

Aurora ran up and flung herself on the grass. She was flushed and laughing. "You really are a poor loser, St. John," she mocked.

Justin St. John sat down beside her. "No girl should play tennis like that, Aurora. You play like a boy."

"If I were, would you expect me to let you win?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I turn to you for a judgment in this case," he said to the dowager duchess.

"No! No! St. John, you will not get me to take sides in this matter," Mary Rose Hawkesworth chuckled. "You were beaten fair and square. Your backhand is deplorable. Why, I vow that I could have beaten you myself had I been of a mind to play."

He clapped his hand over his chest, a pained expression upon his face. "Ma'am, you have wounded me grievously," he declared.

The dowager rapped his shoulder sharply with her fan. "You are not that delicate a flower, St. John," she scolded him. "Will you stay for supper? Valerian should be back from the mills shortly."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said. "I should like that."

"Cally, will you join us too?" Aurora asked.

Cally shook her head. "I am not comfortable sitting straight up any longer," she complained. "You have no idea, sister, how discomforting a thing it is to carry an unborn child within your own body."

Aurora patted the sticky-fingered hand that lay upon Cally's skirts. "Would you like it if I rubbed your shoulders and feet for you later tonight before you go to sleep?" she inquired solicitously.

"Ohhh, would you?" Cally smiled. "That would be so nice. You are the only one in this whole house who understands how miserable I am, sister. Thank God I have you, else I should die of loneliness."

Mary Rose Hawkesworth bit her tongue to prevent a pithy retort. The entire household had been turned upside down to ensure Calandra's comfort and satisfy her every ridiculous whim. And she positively abused Aurora's kindness, although Aurora never complained. If I remain here another minute, the dowager thought, I shall say something quite cutting. She arose from her chair. "It has become a bit cool for me," she lied. "I think I shall go inside, my dears. Please remain and enjoy yourselves. Perhaps I shall take a nap."

She walked slowly across the lawns to calm herself, but she was still angry at Calandra's selfishness, and knew she could not nap. Entering the house, she decided to walk in the picture gallery. Viewing the family portraits, seeing the faces of those who had come before her, remembering the family history, was always enjoyable. She must bring Aurora here one day soon, if she could get her away from Calandra. Aurora had so very much enjoyed reading the history of the family. She would certainly enjoy putting faces to the names in the book.

It was a long gallery that had been added to the house several hundred years earlier. It had been created from a windowed hallway that originally connected one wing of the house to another. Tall windows ran along one side of the gallery. They faced southwest. The wall opposite was paneled in warm wood. The wide-board floors were well polished and laid with beautiful Turkey carpets of red and blue. Afternoon sunlight now flooded the room displaying the portraits at their very best. Mary Rose Hawkesworth smiled as she entered the gallery.

There was her late husband, looking dashing, and quite handsome. There was their son, Charles, and his sweet wife, Henrietta. There were even separate portraits of Valerian, and his sister, Sophia, as children. The dowager moved deliberately, looking at each face of each lord and lady represented. Here now was the First Duke of Farminster, his wife, and his children. There were his parents, the last earl and countess, and their children. The daughters, the first duke's sisters, were lovely young women. She smiled back at the portraits, and then, suddenly, the Dowager Duchess of Farminster gasped. Unbelieving, she peered at the name plate upon the portrait. It read: Catherine hawkesworth kimberly, 3 may 1630-28 October 1700. The young woman in the portrait was the girl who had been married to the Kimberly who had been given St. Timothy by King Charles II. And she was Aurora's image!

That is why Aurora has seemed so familiar to me, the dowager realized. How many times have I seen this portrait in passing over the years? She looked at the painting next to Catherine Hawkesworth Kimberly. It was of Anne Hawkesworth Meredith, who looked very much like her elder sister. What can it mean? Dear God, what can it mean, the dowager thought. But she already knew what it meant. Valerian was married to the wrong girl, and she could not, at least not now, tell him the truth. If it was the truth. But she knew it was. Who could confirm it for her? Aurora's servant, Martha. She would tell the dowager the truth, if pressed, and she would not allow her young mistress to be hurt. Mary Rose Hawkesworth hurried from the portrait gallery, and going to her bedroom, she sent her maid, Jane, to fetch Martha, ascertaining first that Aurora was still outdoors.

"Yes, my lady, you sent for me?" Martha stood politely before the dowager, curtsying.

"You may leave us, Jane," the dowager said quietly. "Please keep watch as I have asked, and let me know the moment Miss Aurora comes into the house."

Jane nodded, and hurried from the room.

The dowager looked at Martha in what she hoped was a stern but not confrontational manner. "I want the truth," she said quietly. "Is your mistress the girl who was really betrothed to my grandson?"

Martha hesitated a moment, and then she sighed. "Yes, my lady," she said. "It's her who should be the duchess, and not Miss Calandra. I warned her that no good comes of lies, but she didn't listen."

"Tell me what happened," the dowager said. "Was it the stepmother's idea? Why on earth was this deception played?"

"Oh, no, my lady! Mistress Oralia wanted no part of it at all. Only at the last minute, when it became apparent that Miss Aurora would have her way, did she give in, but she never wanted it, nor did she agree willingly." Then Martha went on to explain to the Dowager Duchess of Farminster the truth of the entire matter. She concluded by asking the old lady, "How on earth did your ladyship find out?"

The dowager smiled softly. "Aurora has seemed familiar to me from the moment I met her," she told Martha. "Then this afternoon I was in the family portrait gallery, when I came across the painting of the first duke's younger sister. She is Aurora's image, as is her sister, who was married to a Meredith. Calandra does not bear even the faintest resemblance to these ancestors. The Hawkesworths are not dark usually. Valerian gets his coloring from his French mother."

"Forgive me, lady, but are you going to tell?" Martha questioned the dowager nervously.

"How can I, Martha? Calandra was married legally, although if she were not with child, I should tell, and have my grandson annul the marriage based upon the fraud involved. However, Calandra is with child, and the child is innocent of its mother's deceit. No. I shall not tell my grandson; nor shall I tell Aurora, although I am angered by her deceptive actions. And you will say nothing either, Martha, of this conversation. Perhaps, however, your load has been lightened by the fact it will now be shared, eh?"

"Oh, my lady, I knew it was wrong, but what could I do? I am a servant, and even Mistress Oralia and Master George was forced to go along with my mistress. She can be terribly stubborn!"

The dowager patted Martha's plump hand and smiled encouragingly at her. "Go along now, Martha. Somehow it will work itself out."

Martha curtsied and departed the room.

Well, the dowager thought gloomily, her new knowledge was nothing more than an irritant. Nothing had really been accomplished by confirming her suspicions. What a fool she had been! She had been so distraught by her James's death that she hadn't been thinking clearly. She should have sent for Mistress Kimberly and her charges to come to England. Perhaps then Aurora could have been convinced that marrying Valerian Hawkesworth was not a fate worse than death. But no. Cornered, the girl had created an ingenious scheme, and it had almost worked had it not been for her little stroll through the portrait gallery today. If Mistress Kimberly had come to England, perhaps the dowager would have seen the portrait sooner and discovered that they were in the process of being deceived. Now I shall have to live with this information, she considered irritably. What a coil!

At dinner, however, her mood was barely noticed because of the sparring between Valerian and St. John over Aurora. Dear God, the dowager thought, annoyed. They are like a pair of schoolboys, and there sits Aurora, encouraging them by her very jibes. The girl must be married, and as soon as possible, before she tempts Valerian and there is a scandal! It was obvious to her that Valerian was attracted to Aurora despite his marital state. And why not? The girl was clever and amusing. She held his interest with her intellect and not simply her beauty, unlike poor Calandra, who honestly believed that beauty counted for everything. Yes, Valerian was intrigued every bit as much as his cousin was. As for St. John, it was quite apparent he wanted the girl too, and sensing the duke's interest in Aurora, baited him as had always been his habit when the two fought over something. St. John had a very wicked sense of humor, unlike Valerian, but an equally strong will. Yes, there was going to be a scandal if the dowager could not prevent it.

The meal, she suddenly realized, was over. "Take Aurora for a stroll through the gardens, St. John," the dowager said, encouraging her young relative to action. She sent a fierce look toward her grandson.

"It has surely grown chill," the duke replied, ignoring his grand-mama's silent warning. "Perhaps Aurora does not want to stroll in the evening air."

"I like the evening air," Aurora spoke up. "I will take a shawl and be quite cozy." She arose from her seat.

"And I am quite capable of keeping Aurora warm should she grow cold," St. John remarked, his amber eyes dancing with devilment.

"Behave yourself, boy!" The dowager playfully rapped his knuckles with her ivory fan. "I'll have no naughtiness!" But she chuckled as she spoke. "If your intentions are honorable, however, my dear St. John, that is an entirely different matter," she finished. Then she watched with a smile as St. John escorted a blushed Aurora from the dining room. Her look was one of satisfaction.

"Hellfire and damnation, Grandmama," the duke swore irritably. "You would do well peddling maidenheads on the London bridge. Aurora is far too good for my cousin. Why do you encourage him?"

"Control yourself, sir," she said sternly. "Your interest in your sister-in-law becomes too obvious. You cannot have her, Valerian. You have a wife, and I know you would not disgrace the Hawkesworth name or dishonor Aurora by offering her a lesser position in your life than Calandra now holds."

"I Iove her," he said low, his face agonized.

"I know," his grandmother responded. "That is the tragedy, dear boy. You love her, and she would have made you a better wife than her sister, but fate had other plans for you both. Calandra, for all her faults, is expecting your heir, and Aurora must be married off as soon as is possible to prevent you from yourself, Valerian. St. John is an ideal candidate for her. He may not be titled, but he is a member of this family and a wealthy man. Aurora's dowry, while a good one, is not good enough for a title, I fear. If she weds St. John, she will be near her sister, and that, I believe, is to the good."

"Calandra will leave Hawkes Hill as soon as she is recovered from the birth of our child," he reminded the old lady. "You know that is our bargain, and I will keep to it."

"Perhaps she will not want to go if Aurora is near," the dowager said hopefully. "In any event, Aurora must be married whether her sister remains here or departs back to London."

"I do not think I can bear to see her married to another man," the duke admitted. "What a weakling I am, Grandmama!"

"Then Aurora must return to St. Timothy with her brother and his bride when they leave in early November," the dowager said firmly.

"No!" He shook his head vehemently. "I would rather she be wed to St. John and here, where I could at least see her, than send her back to St. Timothy, where I would never see her again."

"You will have your child, Valerian, my boy," the dowager said softly. "He will need you, for he will, I believe, have no mother. Let the child become your world. You will be happy, I promise you.

Valerian Hawkesworth sighed sadly, a sound so filled with pain that it almost broke his grandmother's heart, particularly that she knew the truth, thanks to the portrait in the family gallery and Martha's forced honesty. I will forget I ever knew about this deception, she decided silently. Then she turned her head to gaze out through the dining room windows onto the garden, where Aurora walked with Justin St. John. They were merely shadows in the twilight, and she hoped that St. John would press Aurora to marry him. She wished she could hear what they were saying, and then she smiled at herself for being a nosy old lady.

"Do you sense we are being watched?" Aurora said, her voice tinged with amusement. "I can almost feel the dowager's eyes on the back of my neck." She chuckled. "I do like her so much!"

"She has come to love you," St. John said, "as have I."

"Are you about to propose to me again?" she teased him. "How many times will this make, St. John? Five? Six?"

"This will be the seventh time, Aurora, and seven has always been a fortunate number for me." He stopped walking and drew her into the circle of his arms. "This time I will not take no for an answer, my dear." He ran a finger down the side of her face, and then caught her chin between his thumb and his forefinger. "I want you, Aurora. Do you understand what I mean? I want you!" The amber eyes blazed at her.

This suddenly forceful St. John intrigued her. What had happened to the slightly bored sophisticate he had been until a moment before? This man had a dangerous edge to him, and she was fascinated. "You want me? Do you mean you want to make love to me, St. John? What a naughty suggestion to make to a respectable maiden such as myself," she answered him, her tone slightly mocking.

He laughed softly. "You do not fool me, Miss Spencer-Kimberly. Beneath that elegant and respectable missishness lies a fierce passion that has never been stoked, but when it is, it will threaten to consume us both. I want to make love to you, Aurora, and you want me to make love to you." His arms tightened about her. "Don't you?"

Her heart was suddenly racing, and her knees were threatening to give way beneath her. His words. The intensity in his voice. It was very exciting. She had always been careful of her reputation, never allowing a gentleman to kiss her or hold her hand, and now she wondered why not. Were not women supposed to have feelings of sensuality? She certainly did. Raising her aquamarine eyes to his, she answered breathlessly, "Yes! I do want you to make to love to me, St. John. Are you shocked?"

He shook his head. "No," he said. "I can recognize a passionate virgin when I see one, Aurora."

Instantly she was enraged. How dare he insult her in such a fashion. Pulling away from St. John, she slapped him. "Cad!"

"Bitch!" he replied, yanking her roughly back into his arms. Then he kissed her, pinioning her arms back behind her so that her struggles were virtually useless.

Her first kiss. And she would remember it the rest of her life. It was not the soft and gentle thing she had always imagined. It was hard, and fierce, and demanding. For a moment she reveled in its savagery. Then she kicked him as hard as she could.

"Ouch!" he yelped, but he did not let her go. Instead, he kicked her feet out from beneath her so that they fell to the grassy path below. Restraining her, he grinned into her face. "You really are a vixen, Aurora." He bent to kiss her again, but she turned her head away from him angrily.

"Let me go," she snarled. "Let me up this instant, St. John, or I shall scream so loud, they will think there is a murder being committed!"

He forced her head back to his and found her mouth again. This time, however, his kiss was deep and intoxicatingly sweet. He knew she wanted to resist him, but she would not be able to avoid her own fiery nature. She was a virgin. A most curious virgin with an ardent bent. He gave her just enough room to breathe before pressing his lips back down upon hers, working against the pink flesh until it began to soften beneath his. A tiny sound of pleasure caught his ear. Her body moved slightly against his. He ran his tongue along her lips, pushing between the twin delights and into the warm, moist grotto of her mouth, finding her tongue and stroking it hungrily with his own.

She was going to explode with the longing now sweeping over her body, Aurora thought muzzily. How could the conjunction of two mouths engender such incredible pleasure? Why had she avoided kissing until now? And why hadn't Cally told her how wonderful it was? Surely her sister could not object to this. It was pure heaven! Daringly, she entwined her tongue with his in some primitive mating, and to her surprise he shuddered almost violently, then pulled away from her, gasping for air with a groan. "More!" she commanded him.

He brushed his mouth over her teasingly, next kissing her eyelids. Turning her head aside with his palm, he nibbled a ribbon of kisses down the side of her face and neck. She felt the heat of him in the hollow between her neck and her shoulder. She arched her head and throat to give him greater access to her perfumed flesh. "Wonderful! Wonderful!" she murmured breathlessly as he moved to her chest and the swell of her small breasts. His hand slipped beneath her back to fumble with the laces of her gown, which he quickly undid in a most expert fashion. She was wearing no corset.

He repositioned them so he might draw her into his arms as they lay upon the grass. His hand pulled gently at her loosened bodice, and her breasts almost fell out of her chemise. For a moment he gazed in rapt awe at the two lovely orbs, and then he kissed the plump flesh passionately, his hand unable to keep from fondling her. "God, you are so lovely," he groaned.

Mesmerized, she watched him as he caressed her, cupping a breast in the warm hollow of the palm of his hand, squeezing it tenderly, leaning over to kiss a nipple. She struggled to keep herself from crying out, but a small "Oh" escaped from between her lips. Somehow she knew that he should not be being quite so intimate with her, and she felt bound to protest. "St. John," she gasped, "I don't think you should be doing this. Oh! Oh! Ohhhh, St. John, do cease this torture!" His mouth had closed over the nipple, and was now drawing upon it. She was afire, and that place between her thighs was beginning to tingle. "St. John, in God's name, stop! It's marvelous, but I don't want to lose my virginity in the Hawkesworths' garden! Stop!" She struggled to break away from his embrace.

With a genuinely constrained groan and a deep sigh he released her. "Damnation, wench, you are too exciting for a mere mortal! I ache to possess you, Aurora. Say you will marry me!"

"I will consider it, St. John," she told him softly, for the first time seriously contemplating marriage to him. If this love play were a sample of the delights marriage had to offer, then perhaps she should take him up on his proposal. He did have the right qualifications for a husband. She enjoyed his company, and if he could stir up her passions so quickly, then obviously she must be falling in love with him. After all, what was love anyway? Certainly no one had ever given her a rational explanation of the emotion. She seemed to be on her own.

He groaned again, rolling on his back. There was a genuinely pained look upon his face.

"Do you hurt?" she asked him innocently.

"Yes," he told her.

"Where?" she queried him. "Will it help if I rub it? I rub Cally's shoulders and feet when they ache."

A wicked grin creased St. John's face. "I'm not certain you would want to rub my injured part, Aurora, should you see the state it's in; nor am I certain you should unless we are betrothed."

"Oh, St. John, don't be such a fool!" she scolded him. "Show me what hurts this instant, and I will make it better."

In response, his fingers fumbled with the buttons on his pantaloons, opening them to release his male member. "Ahhhh!" he exhaled as it burst forth from its painful confinement.

Amazed, Aurora stared, her gaze transfixed upon the thick, long peg of flesh that thrust up from the opening in his garment. She remembered seeing George's member when they were children swimming naked in the sea. It had looked nothing like this intimidating object. Fearless, however, she reached out to touch it, but he caught her wrist and held it.

"No," St. John told her. "If you touch me, I'll lose all control, Aurora. Turn about and avert your eyes while I lace you up. I was too constricted, which caused my discomfort. I will be all right now as long as you don't touch me. When we are married I will be delighted if you choose to caress my fine fellow, but not at this moment."

It wasn't easy, but she tore her stare away from him, pulling herself about so that her back faced him. She sat silently as he skillfully laced up her bodice. A thousand questions filled her mind. "Is it normal?" she finally said, breaking the stillness between them.

"In size?" he returned.

She nodded.

"I think so. Hawkesworth's is a wee bit bigger than mine, I believe, but it's how a man wields his member that's more important." He slipped his arms about her and kissed the nape of her neck.

"Will it hurt me?" Aurora couldn't help but lean her head back against his shoulder. I think I will marry him, she thought, but I do not think I shall tell him now. Not quite yet.

"When I relieve you of your virginity, you will feel it," he told her. "For some girls it's a sharp, brief flash of pain. For others no more than a sting of discomfort. It really depends how tightly your maidenhead is lodged, and how thick it is."

"You have obviously done this before," she remarked dryly.

"Yes," he told her, "I have, but never with a wife, Aurora."

"I have not said I would marry you, St. John." She removed his embracing arms and struggled to her feet, brushing her gown off as she did so, and patting her hair back into some semblance of order.

Standing, he took her by the shoulders and turned her about, tilting her face up to his. "You will marry me, Aurora," he told her with a small smile. "You cannot resist the magic I arouse in your tempting little body, can you?"

"Cad!" she smacked at him, but only half seriously.

"Bitch!" he retorted, giving her a quick kiss.

Then they both laughed.

"Button yourself, St. John, or the entire household will know what we have been about, I fear," she told him sternly.

"They will suspect it anyway," he chuckled, buttoning himself.

"You may escort me back into the house," she said loftily. "Then you must go home, St. John. Your mother is surely wondering what has happened to you. I'm certain she does not know what a devil you are."

"Alas," he said as they walked back through the gardens to the house, "I fear she does, my dear. May I come tomorrow and bring you home for tea so she may meet her future daughter-in-law?"

"St. John!" Aurora was exasperated. "I have not said yes yet. You must not presume until I do."

"Patience is not a virtue with me, Aurora," he said.

"Virtue is not a virtue with you," she riposted.

He burst out laughing, admitting, "True. True."

Entering the house, Aurora saw a light coming from beneath the library door. "Good night, St. John," she told him.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her slowly, smiling down into her eyes, nibbling tenderly upon her lower lip. "Good night, Aurora, my darling. How I long for the night when I shall not have to let you go to a lonely bed." Then he whispered softly in her ear, "I shall insist we sleep naked, and I shall caress and kiss every inch of your lovely body until you beg me to take you. And I will!" His hands were fastened about her small waist, and he held her so that her breasts just touched his chest. "I am going to tease and taunt you until the day that you marry me, darling. I know that that little secret place of yours is even now throbbing and wet, isn't it?"

Surprised, she nodded. "I think you are very wicked, St. John," she murmured low. "If you tease me, I shall tease you, and that tine fellow, as you call your member, will ache with longing for me even as it now does, doesn't it?" She daringly ran her tongue along his lips.

The library door opened, and the duke spoke sharply. "Go to your room, Aurora. St. John, go home. I'll have no scandal in my house."

With a chuckle Justin St. John kissed the tip of Aurora's nose, and releasing his hold on her, bowed mockingly at his cousin as he departed.

Valerian Hawkesworth had an angry look about him. "You will remember, miss, that I am your guardian while you are here in England. You will not play the strumpet again, or I will have you confined to your room on a diet of bread and water. Do you understand, Aurora?"

"I understand that you are arrogant, my lord, even as I have always believed you to be. You may force my sister to your will, but you will never force me. I shall probably marry St. John, although I have not yet decided to do so, and if you believe that I would compromise my own good name, you are sadly mistaken. I bid you good night." She ran up the staircase and hurried to the dowager's room, knocking politely.

"Yes, miss?" The dowager's Jane answered the door.

"If her ladyship is still awake, I should like to speak with her," Aurora said politely.

"Come in, miss, she's been waiting," Jane replied. She was a tiny woman with a cheery smile who always wore a neatly starched mobcap over her gray curls, and was utterly devoted to her mistress.

Mary Rose Hawkesworth was already settled in her bed, her nightcap with its blue silk ribbons tied beneath her chin. "Well?" she demanded. "Did he propose, and did you accept him, Aurora?"

"It was the seventh time he has proposed," she said with a small laugh. "I have always refused him."

"He has proposed to you seven times, and you refused him?" The dowager was astounded. "Gracious, child, what can you be thinking?"

"I did not refuse tonight, but neither did I accept, although I am of a mind to accept, ma'am," Aurora told her sponsor.

"Why now?" The dowager was curious. Aurora, she was discovering, could be a most unpredictable young girl. Stubborn, Martha had said.

"He kissed me," Aurora replied. "I liked it. I liked it very much, ma'am. He has been so proper and so polite until tonight. He was rather masterful this evening. I found it intriguing, and quite delicious. He is not the fop I thought him to be, and now perhaps I shall accept his offer because I believe he will be a most interesting man to have for a husband. I might even be falling in love with him."

"Ahhhh," the dowager said, nodding with approval, her eye meeting that of her servant. "You will not get a better offer, my child. St. John is well off without your dowry, and so he has no ulterior motive involved in asking for your hand. He has not sought to marry before now, although heaven knows there have been several most suitable young women he might have had. I suspect he has fallen in love with you."

"He has asked me to tea tomorrow to meet his mama," Aurora told the dowager.

"Excellent!" came the enthusiastic reply. "I shall, of course, accompany you. It will show Mistress St. John that I fully approve of any alliance contracted between her son and our family." There was a smile of utter satisfaction upon her handsome face. It was going well, and it was going to work out precisely as she had hoped. "Have you thought about when we shall have the wedding, my child?" she asked.

"I have not told St. John yes yet, ma'am." Aurora laughed.

"But you will, of course, and the sooner the better," the old lady advised her charge.

"Would late spring be too soon?" Aurora wondered. "I suppose we should probably wait a year not to appear unseemly, but I have always wanted to be married in the spring. Cally should be well recovered from her childbirth by then, and can be my attendant witness, as I was for her when she married the duke last winter."

"Spring would be a perfect time," the dowager agreed. "April or May, my child. Mid-May would be beautiful! And who cares what the old gossips say. St. John is eager, and so, I suspect, are you now." Her blue eyes twinkled mischievously at the girl. "I well remember those heady kisses of my youth. None are ever quite so sweet as those."

"I respect your experience," Aurora told her playfully. "Now, however, ma'am, I suspect that you would like to retire. I bid you good night." Impulsively, Aurora bent and kissed the dowager's wrinkled cheek. Then with a quick curtsy she was gone from the room.

Mary Rose Hawkesworth touched her cheek, and a tear rolled down her face. "Why, that sweet child," she said softly.

"She is that," Jane agreed. "A pity she weren't the one we got for Master Valerian."

"Yes," the dowager agreed. "A great pity indeed."

^{Chapter 9}

“Hold still, miss," Martha said as she carefully laced up her young mistress. "'I've never known you to be so fidgety!"

"I've never been invited to meet a gentleman's mother before, and frankly I'm nervous," Aurora admitted to her maid.

"The dowager will be with you," Martha replied. "Just let her do all the talking. Answer politely and try to appear mannerly, miss. Mistress St. John doesn't have to know you ride astride or like to swim naked in the sea. Just be what every mama wants for her son. A well-mannered, loving girl who will devote herself to her husband."

"I haven't told St. John that I'll marry him yet," Aurora protested.

Martha turned the girl about and looked critically at her garb. Apple-green silk gown with a petticoat panel of ivory brocade embroidered with multicolored butterflies; tight sleeves to just below the elbow with creamy engageants; a pretty rounded neckline modestly edged with a lace ruffle. She nodded, satisfied. "Of course you're going to marry Mr. St. John, miss," she said. "That's what we come from St. Timothy for last winter. To find you a husband, and Mr. St. John will make you a fine one. Now, here's your shawl. It's not cold, so you'll not need a cloak." She draped it over Aurora's shoulders, then handed her a pair of lace mitts and a reticule of pale green silk. "There's a handkerchief inside, and a little painted fan if it gets too warm. Now, you hold still a minute while I affix the finishing touch." She put a small bunch of little cream-colored silk flowers in the girl's hair and stepped back. "Yes," she nodded. "It's just perfect. Now, go and join the dowager, and remember what I told you. A modest and mannerly demeanor and a gentle voice will impress Mistress St. John best."

Mary Rose Hawkesworth stood with her grandson as Aurora descended the staircase. "How pretty you look, my child," she complimented her.

"Thank you, ma'am" came the response, and then Aurora looked at the duke and said, "Do you think I look pretty, Valerian?"

"Conserve your flirtatious manners for my cousin, Aurora," he sharply put her down. "I am certain he will be delighted to see how boldly you have dressed for him."

"Boldly? What in heaven's name is bold about my appearance?" she demanded angrily.

"The neckline on your gown is immodest," he grumbled.

"It is edged in a lace ruffle, and Martha says it is quite decorous," Aurora snapped back at him. "You surely don't consider yourself an arbiter on women's fashions, sir?"

"Enough," the dowager said, raising her hand, and then, "Come, my dear, or we will be late to Primrose Court." She gave her grandson a hard look and then took Aurora's arm.

He stood watching as the carriage drew away from the house. She had looked utterly adorable, and the thought that she had dressed with the idea of pleasing St. John was infuriating. Did his cousin love Aurora? Really love her? Would he make her happy, or would he break her heart when she discovered St. John's penchant for women? All women. St. John would do what so many of their contemporaries did. He would take a respectable wife with a respectable dowry and have several children, all the while keeping a bit of fluff hidden away. Valerian Hawkesworth knew his cousin's bad habits, although St. John had always been so utterly discreet that virtually no one realized what a cad he could be. Of course, the duke admitted to himself, he had taken a wife for precisely the same reasons they all did, and while he did not love Calandra, he had never been unfaithful to her except perhaps in the deepest and most secret place in his heart. With a sigh he returned to his library, and pouring himself a whiskey, sat down.

The ducal carriage quickly left Hawkes Hill behind. It would be almost half an hour's ride to Primrose Court, as the St. John home was known.

"Margaret St. John will be delighted to have Justin finally married," the dowager remarked as they rode along. "You are very fortunate, my child. Primrose Court has a dower house, and Mistress St. John has been eager to move into it. She has spent the last several years preparing it for her arrival. You'll have no mother-in-law in your house."

"But, ma'am, I still have not decided whether to marry St. John or not. I hope the good lady is not presuming I will." Aurora shifted nervously in her seat.

"Now, my child," the dowager said, patting Aurora's hand, "you must cease this maidenly dithering. It is not at all becoming to a girl of your intellect. Of course you will marry Justin St. John. He's an excellent catch, and your mama will be absolutely delighted." She smiled encouragingly at the girl. "I know you are a little frightened, but you do not have to be, Aurora. If your mama is in St. Timothy, the rest of your family is here with you, and everything is just going to be fine." She patted the lace-mitted hand again.

The vehicle traveled on past orchards of apples and pears now being picked. The air was sweet with the scent of ripe fruit. Finally they turned off the main road, going through an open gate and down a narrow tree-lined way that led to Primrose Court. It was a lovely warm, pinkish brick mansion of Tudor vintage that had been modernized over the years to include large windows and a round pillared porch. The coach horses trotted smartly up the graveled drive, finally stopping directly before the house. Immediately servants were hurrying forward to open the carriage door, draw down the steps, and help the passengers out, escorting them into the building.

Justin St. John was awaiting them in the foyer. "Welcome, your ladyship," he said, kissing the dowager's hand. Then he turned to Aurora. "Welcome home, my darling," he told her, and she blushed.

"Oh, St. John, don't be such a fool," she gently scolded him.

"Come into the drawing room and meet Mama," he said with a small smile. How pretty she looked, he thought to himself. She seemed to have gone out of her way for him today. She was going to say yes. He just knew she was going to say yes! His heart raced, and for a brief moment he felt like a schoolboy again. Leading the two women into the salon where his mother was standing to greet their guests, he let his parent greet the dowager first.

Mistress St. John curtsied to Mary Rose Hawkesworth. "How lovely that you could come for a visit, ma'am," she said. "I am so sorry that the ague kept me from your grand ball last May. The neighbors are yet speaking of it, and such a dramatic climax to have the young duchess faint, and everyone to learn she was with child. Is she well?"

The dowager smiled thinly. "As well as any young woman in her condition, Margaret. I have brought the duchess's sister with me today. St. John! Introduce Aurora!"

"Mama, may I present Miss Aurora Spencer-Kimberly," he dutifully said, drawing Aurora forward with a smile.

"How do you do," Aurora said softly, curtsying politely.

"So," Margaret St. John said, "you are the girl who is to marry my son, Miss Spencer-Kimberly. You are going to marry Justin, aren't you?" Her gray eyes twinkled with humor at Aurora's surprised expression.

There was what seemed a long silence, and then Aurora said, "Yes, Mistress St. John, I am. I hope that you will approve."

Margaret St. John hugged Aurora warmly. "My dear, I am absolutely rapturously relieved that some nice young woman has decided to settle Justin down. Come, now, let us sit down and have our tea."

She was in a dream, Aurora thought. Had she really agreed to marry St. John? Yes, she had. The dowager was looking smugly pleased. Mistress St. John appeared delighted as she poured out the tea, and St. John was grinning at her like a fool. Why did I say yes, Aurora wondered to herself. Do I love him? Do I really want to marry him? She sipped her tea silently. Martha would very definitely approve her decorum. She was brought back to reality at the sound of St. John's voice.

"Let's be married at Christmas," he said enthusiastically.

His mother immediately looked shocked. "Justin," she cautioned him, "one cannot arrange a proper wedding so quickly, nor is it seemly. There would be talk at so swift a union, and it would reflect badly upon Aurora, I fear. People would be counting on their fingers, I regret."

"Aurora and I have already discussed this matter, Margaret, and while it is a trifle soon, we thought next May would be lovely. Aurora has always wanted to be married in the springtime," the dowager said.

"May? That's almost eight months away," St. John groused.

"Oh, yes," his mother said to the dowager, "May would be just lovely, and the duchess will have recovered from her childbirth by then and can be at her sister's side. It's a trifle soon, of course, but no one would think badly of us if we arranged the wedding for May. The betrothal must be announced quickly, however."

"Valerian is Aurora's guardian here in England. I will see that he gives a small, intimate dinner next week, and he will announce the engagement at that time. With the duchess enceinte, no one will consider it strange we are being so simple," the dowager replied.

"What a pity the duchess's condition prevented them from attending the royal wedding and the coronation this month," Mistress St. John noted. "I understand it was all quite magnificent, and that the queen is a lovely young woman."

"Indeed, Calandra was dreadfully disappointed," the dowager replied, remembering how her grandson's wife had shrieked and carried on when she learned that she could not travel during her pregnancy. It had been three days before she had stopped crying, and she was still not over her disappointment, nor would she ever be, the dowager thought.

The two women now settled down to a good gossip, for although St. John's mother was at least fifteen years younger than the dowager, they had many interests and friends in common.

"I am going to take Aurora on a tour of the house," St. John finally said, and his mother waved them off.

They left the drawing room hand in hand, and he showed her the dining room, the back salon the family generally used, the ballroom, and the original old hall, which was beamed and hung with banners. Leading her upstairs, he took her through a door, and they were in a large bedchamber. "And this is my room," he said softly, drawing her into his arms and kissing her slowly.

For a moment she enjoyed the kiss, and then she drew just slightly away from him. "I don't think we should be here, St. John, nor should we be engaged in such activity."

"When did you decide to marry me?" he asked her, his fingers unlacing her gown as he bent to kiss her again.

"When your mother asked me," she admitted, and slipped her arms about his neck, kissing him back. "Where is my betrothal ring?"

He pushed her down onto his bed, and straddling her gently, pulled her bodice down to reveal her soft, alabaster bosom. His hands reached out to fondle the dainty mounds. Bending his head, he began to lick first the pink nipples, and then each of her round breasts in its turn. She sighed, encouraging him in his pursuit, and he began to suck on her nipples, drawing upon them strongly, biting them tenderly until she was writhing beneath him and almost whimpering.

Finally he lifted his head from the sweetness of her flesh and asked her, "Do you want to know more, my darling Aurora?"

"Yes," she murmured. She was already afire with his passionate attentions to her sensitive breasts. They felt hard and ready to burst.

"This will be so much easier when you do not have so many garments on," he told her. He pushed her skirts up. Beneath the green silk she had on at least half a dozen petticoats, but, thankfully, no panniers. He thrust the material aside enough to slip his hand beneath, and began stroking her leg, which was encased in a silk stocking and tightly gartered. He was going to undress her himself on their wedding night, slowly, deliberately, and purposively, kissing each bit of flesh as he exposed it until his very touch would set her afire. His fingers moved above her garter, touching the very soft skin of her inner thigh. He caressed it lightly, teasingly.

Aurora's head was spinning. His big hands were so gentle, his mouth so deliciously wicked when he used it on her breasts. His hand moved farther upward, brushing softly against her little nest of curls. This, she sensed, was dangerous territory. She stirred restlessly as a single long finger slipped between her nether lips to find her little pleasure button. He began rubbing it provocatively.

"Sr. John!" she squeaked.

"Don't you like it?" he whispered hotly in her ear, his finger continuing its wonderful and erotic friction.

"Yes!" Oh, God, yes! This was even better than when she did it to herself. She squirmed with excitement, gasping as she reached the crest of delight. "Ummmmm! Oh, St. John, that is simply too delicious. Oh! Oh! Ohhhhh!" She shuddered.

Leaning forward, he kissed her lips, his tongue playing with her. Then he murmured, "One day I shall use my tongue on you there, my darling, but you are not yet ready for such games." The finger slipped away from her pleasure button and began to penetrate her. She gasped with surprise, but he reassured her. "It's all right, my precious. This is where I shall enter your body when we are married." His finger gently inserted itself, moving forward in her hot passage very slowly, very carefully. When he reached her maidenhead, he ceased his action, gently ascertaining that her virginity was well lodged.

She whimpered.

"Hush, darling," he soothed her, and began to move the finger back and forth within her. "There, isn't that nice, Aurora? No, sweeting, do not move else I hurt you without meaning to do so." The finger moved swiftly, and within moments she was crying out with her pleasure, and when the shudders had subsided, he withdrew his finger, putting it into his mouth to suck upon it. His member was like iron, and tightly lodged within his pantaloons. Loosening it, he lay next to her and put her hand upon it. "If you soothe me very gently, my darling, it would help."

"But yesterday you said it would hurt you," she murmured, her fingers closing about him. He was warm and throbbing with life.

"That, my darling, was yesterday in Hawkesworth's garden. This is now in my house. Gently, Aurora," he instructed as she loosed him and began to stroke his member. "Ahhh, yes, that is the way." He reached into his coat and drew forth a silk handkerchief. "Take your hand away now, Aurora. My love juices are about to flow forth."

She couldn't help it. Turning her head, she watched as his member erupted forth a creamy stream of thick liquid. He stemmed the How in the handkerchief, shivering with pleasure until finally it was done. Mopping the residue, he lay the sodden silk aside, then, turning, kissed her mouth even as she reached out to caress the limp flesh.

He smiled at her. "You weren't afraid, were you?"

"No," she told him, and then, "we have been very wicked, haven't we, St. John? Very wicked indeed."

"I haven't half begun to be wicked with you, Aurora," he told her with a chuckle, and kissed her again.

She murmured her approval, but suddenly the clock on the mantel began to strike. Aurora stiffened and pulled away from St. John. "Your mama and the dowager will surely begin to wonder where we have gotten to!" Pushing her skirts down, she sat up. "Oh, do lace me up, St. John!"

Chuckling, he complied, afterward fastening his own buttons.

Aurora looked into the mirror over the fireplace. "Oh, Lord, my hair is a disaster, and I shall never be able to fix it!"

Laughing now, he reached into the drawer of the bedside table and drew forth a small hairbrush with which he repaired her coif. When he had finished, he said, "There. No one will ever suspect that we were toying with your virtue, my darling." He drew her up. "Come, and I shall take you to the strongroom, where I have the St. John betrothal ring. It is a magnificent yellow diamond, oval in shape, and will become you, my darling. Let everyone think what they may. You will be my wife in the spring, Aurora."

"I don't suppose I should ask how you became so proficient in restoring a lady's coiffure," Aurora said tartly.

"No," he agreed, "you should not." Then, taking her by the hand, they left the bedroom.

When they returned to the drawing room, both Mistress St. John and the dowager were both extravagant in their praise of Aurora's new ring. And for the first time she felt a little bit of excitement.

"Is this love?" she softly asked St. John.

"I don't know," he said. "I've never been in love before, but I do know I feel different about you than any other woman I have ever known, my darling. Perhaps it is love."

It was rather flattering, she thought as their carriage made its way back to Hawkes Hill. He had never been in love before he met her. Cally didn't love the duke, nor did Valerian love her. I think I am very lucky, Aurora considered.

"A marvelous stone," the dowager said for the fourth time since she had seen Aurora's ring. "A bit showy, perhaps, but without a flaw. There isn't another diamond like it in all the world. It belonged to an Indian rajah, I am told, and has a name. The Virgin, it is called. I am so very pleased, my dear child," the dowager continued. "And I know that your family will be too."

George Spencer-Kimberly was indeed delighted. "When's the wedding?" he asked. His own nuptials were scheduled for the very end of October. "Will you and St. John return to St. Timothy with us?"

"We are not being married until next spring," Aurora told him. "It has all been decided by the dowager and Mistress St. John. Oh, George, I do wish you could persuade Mama to leave the island and come to England to be with Cally and me. The duke has said Cally may go back to London after she births her child, and she is planning to do it. If Mama were here, perhaps she would not be so restless."

"I will try," he said, and then, "Come on! I want to see Cally's face when she sees your betrothal ring. She'll be most envious. You know how she loves beautiful jewelry."

"God help you" was Cally's blessing on her sister's news. She was sitting up in her bed, drinking tea and eating sweetmeats. "Let me see the ring." She took Aurora's slender hand and peered closely at it. "He's generous," she noted, "but I've told you what he'll expect in return for his gifts. You would be wise to return the ring."

Shaking his dark head, George departed the room. His sister grew stranger every day, and made no secret of the fact she hated any intimacy with her husband.

When the door had closed behind him, Aurora said, "I am learning the pleasures of the flesh, little sister. St. John is quite passionate."

"My God!" Cally exclaimed. "You haven't been intimate with him and given away your virtue? Surely you aren't that foolish."

"We play love games," Aurora said, "but that is all."

"How can you bear it?" Cally said wearily.

"I like it," Aurora said. "I like his kisses, and I like his mouth on my skin, and I enjoy it when he fondles me, Cally."

Calandra shuddered. "You must be a wanton," she said.

"Because a woman enjoys the physical attentions of a man does not necessarily mean she is a loose jade. Of course, I do not mean she should encourage just any man," Aurora told her sister, "but it can be no sin with a husband, or an affianced husband. Why should a woman not take her pleasure too? I can find no wrong in it."

"Perhaps it is me," Calandra admitted. "I just don't enjoy being pawed and invaded by a man. Any man. It isn't just Valerian. While I was in London there were several gentlemen who approached me in a less than seemly fashion. I enjoy being admired and envied, but I will not be touched by a lustful man."

"I am astounded, then, that you are with child," Aurora spoke boldly to her sibling. She did not really expect an answer.

"My husband forced me," Cally said, surprising her. "He wanted an heir, and that I wasn't willing was of no importance to him."

Aurora was thoughtful as she considered her sister's words. If Cally didn't want her husband, how could he be aroused by her enough to spill his seed? She must ask St. John about such behavior. Perhaps the duke enjoyed resistance. It was a distasteful and frightening thought that a woman's desires and wishes were not paramount to such intimacy.

Aurora had no opportunity to inform her brother-in-law of her impending marriage, for the dowager had already told him, as she discovered when she sat down to dinner. The old lady had been so delighted, she could not contain herself long enough to allow Aurora to announce her own good news. The duke took the news impassively.

"I wish you happiness," he said.

"And you will give an intimate little dinner to announce Aurora's betrothal, Valerian," his grandmother said. "Just the immediate family and the Bowens, of course. Calandra is hardly even up to that, but we must do it for propriety's sake. Elsie Bowen will trumpet the news all about the county, I am certain. We will achieve our aim without incurring any vast expense in doing so," she chuckled. Then she turned to Aurora. "Of course, if your sister were not so fragile right now, we should have a very grand ball to announce your coming marriage, but we shall soothe everyone's feelings by inviting them all to the wedding. It will be the grandest occasion the county has seen in years. Valerian will, naturally, foot the expense, won't you, my dear boy?"

"Of course," the duke said dryly but without enthusiasm.

"Are you not happy for me?" Aurora asked him pointedly.

"If you are happy, Aurora, then I must be happy for you even if I believe you could do better" was the reply.

"Better?" Her voice was sharp. "With one of those London fops Cally was forever pressing upon me? I am astounded that you think so little of me, Valerian, to believe that I would be that shallow. St. John suits me quite well. He is a country gentleman, and I prefer being a country lady. And he is very passionate! His kisses set my heart afire! I am the luckiest girl in the world!" She glared at him, daring him to contradict her or criticize St. John.

"God deliver me from a romantic virgin in love for the first time," he mocked her. "I am assuming, of course, that you are still a virgin and have not been silly enough to let my cousin seduce you. He is quite a notorious rake, you know. Or perhaps you do not know. He has fathered at least three bastards to my knowledge."

"Valerian!" His grandmother's handsome face was flushed with her annoyance. "You are being deliberately provocative and most indelicate."

"How nice to know St. John's seed is so potent," Aurora said sweetly. "I am very eager to begin a family. Does he throw sons or daughters the most, Valerian?" She smiled brightly.

Mary Rose Hawkesworth gasped at the girl's boldness as George Spencer-Kimberly stifled his laughter. The duke and his grandmother were going to find out that Aurora was a formidable opponent when irritated, aroused, or otherwise annoyed. No one had ever called his sister a biddable female. He would miss her when he returned to St. Timothy with his bride, but Besty Bowen was a more predictable female, like his mother, and he far preferred such a girl for his wife.

"Be careful, my dear Aurora," the duke said coldly, "else you be mistaken for a coarse strumpet."

Standing suddenly, Aurora threw her wineglass at him and stormed from the dining room. The duke laughed, both amused and amazed by her actions. Then he nodded to Peters to see the disarray was cleaned up, and turned his attention back to his dinner plate.

"You are really quite impossible, Valerian," his grandmother remarked. "Frankly, I would have thrown the entire wine carafe at you. It was well within Aurora's grasp. She was rather restrained, I thought."

George could no longer contain his mirth, and burst out laughing.

The tension broken, the trio continued their meal, while upstairs Aurora was sending Martha for a tray, for she was ravenous, her anger and her excitement both fueling her appetite. When George stopped by later on to bid her good night, Aurora was just finishing her meal.

"He laughed at you, you know," George informed his sister.

"He can go to the devil," she muttered.

"You must restrain your antipathy toward Valerian, Aurora, lest people gain the wrong impression," her brother gently warned her.

"What impression could they possibly obtain other than the fact I dislike Valerian's arrogance?" she demanded.

"They might think that you were in love with him," George said with devastating forthrightness.

"What?" Aurora grew pink. "How can you say such a thing, George? It is ludicrous and shameful! I am in love with St. John!"

"I am pleased to know it," her brother responded in serious tones. "Now, listen to me, Aurora. You have always been headstrong and willful despite your charm and your good heart; but I would remind you of the deception we-you and Cally and I-have enacted upon the Duke of Farminster. I knew it was wrong, yet I allowed you to do it. Indeed, I aided you, and the results are disastrous for Valerian and Cally. While I am in love with Betsy, and will be happily married, while you are in love with St. John, and will be happily wed, they despise each other and are utterly miserable, and it is our fault to a great extent." He took Aurora's hand in his and kissed her fingertips. "I love both of my sisters. You should have been the duke's wife, and Papa would be very disappointed that I allowed myself to be manipulated by you, Aurora. Had I only known of Cally's abhorrence of physical love, I would have never allowed what has happened to happen."

"But she wanted to be a duchess," Aurora said weakly.

"Do you remember when we were young and that group of Spanish nuns took shelter on St. Timothy from a hurricane? Cally wanted to be a nun for weeks afterward. This was a similar situation, and I was too blind to see it because I love you both and wanted you happy. Look upon the results of my foolish indulgence, little sister.

"I will be brutally frank with you, Aurora. Whether you are willing to admit it or not, you are attracted to Valerian, and I believe he is attracted to you. Perhaps you don't even realize it, but I see it, and I know the dowager sees it too. Face it, and put it from you else it cause further disaster. Valerian is married to Cally, and they are, for better or for worse, expecting a child. You will marry in the spring, and that must be an end of it," George concluded.

"I am not attracted to Valerian," Aurora said firmly.

"Then cease asking him if he thinks you're pretty in this or that new gown. Stop baiting him, and taunting him with your passion for St. John. He and his cousin have always been rivals of a sort, and neither can seem to get over it. Are you certain that St. John cares for you, Aurora? Really cares for you? Not just lusts for you, for even I observe that he does lust for you. Tell me that there is more between you than just desire. Do you even know, or understand, that there must be more between a married couple than just physical hunger?"

"Yes, of course, I think so!" Aurora pulled away from her brother and sat down in a chair by the fire. "We amuse each other," she told George. "I know I like him, and I believe he likes me. If we are to live together as man and wife, shouldn't that be important?"

He sat himself opposite her while Martha, having returned to the room, bustled quietly about, listening. "You and St. John already have more than Cally and the duke," he said approvingly, "but there must be more. For instance, Betsy and I agree upon several things that will affect our married life. We are in concert in the matter of raising our children. We know that we would like two sons and two daughters. We have decided that even if the slaves have their own religion, we will still raise an Anglican church on the island and encourage them to attend. St. Timothy is going to change, Aurora. With the bottling facility that Valerian and I intend to erect, it shall become a more important island. Eventually trading ships will stop regularly, and we will not have to send our sugar to Barbados for transport to England. Betsy and I plan to work together to make certain that St. Timothy remains a good place, a happy place. It is up to you and St. John to set the goals that you wish to follow in your life together. Do not marry him just because you enjoy his kisses and like his hand up your skirt."

"Master George!" Martha's indignant voice interrupted them. "What a shocking thing to say to your sister. She's a good girl, she is! Don't you dare cast doubt upon either her purity or good character."

George laughed, catching a hold of Martha's hand and pulling her down into his lap. "I know Aurora is a good girl, Martha," he said, "but I would not be a good older brother if I did not attempt to ascertain that she is marrying St. John for the proper reasons, and will be happy with her choice. Poor Cally is very unhappy with her choice." He kissed the servant's cheek.

Martha struggled to her feet. "Now, don't you go trying to wheedle me or confuse your sister. She has made her decision to marry that Mr. St. John, and he's a mighty good catch. She's going to be happy, and no mistake about it, Master George. Now, go along with you and let my poor mistress get some sleep. It has been a very exciting day for her, for us all." She shooed him from the room.

"Remember what I said," George called out to her as the door closed behind him.

"Young scoundrel," Martha muttered.

"He just wants to be certain that I am happy," Aurora said.

"Well, he shouldn't say such wicked things to you, brother or not. And he shouldn't be confusing you about Mr. St. John," Martha said.

"I'm not confused about St. John," Aurora assured her as Martha helped her to undress and get into her nightgown. She washed her face and hands and cleaned her teeth in the basin of warm water that Martha provided for her. Then, tying her nightcap on, she climbed into her bed. "I'm not confused about St. John at all. He's going to make me a wonderful husband, Martha. I really think he is."

Satisfied, Martha tucked the girl into her bed, and blowing out the candle on the nightstand, gathered up her mistress's discarded garments and left the room with a chirpy "Good night, miss."

Aurora lay quietly beneath the down coverlet. The fire in the fireplace blazed cheerily, casting dark, mischievous shadows upon the walls and hangings. She closed her eyes and attempted to rekindle her delicious memories of that afternoon. She had been waiting for hours, it seemed, to be alone so she might recall her sensuous little adventure with St. John. He really was quite wicked, and she had been very naughty, yet she felt not a moment's guilt over the matter. His mouth on her breasts. His fingers beneath her skirts. The look in his eyes when his love juices had erupted and he had turned his head to gaze at her. She sighed deeply, and then suddenly her eyes flew open. It had been Valerian Hawkesworth's face she had just imagined! It hadn't been St. John's at all! What was the matter with her? Was her brother right? Was she unknowingly attracted to the duke?

Aurora shivered. This was wrong. It was very wrong. How could she be attracted to Valerian Hawkesworth? She didn't want to be a duchess, and he was certainly the most irritating man she had ever met, not to mention his appalling arrogance. And what had he done to her sister that Cally so disliked the physical act of passion? And had Cally not said he forced himself on her so he might have an heir. This was a terrible man. She could not possibly be attracted to him! She couIdn't! Was Cally right? Was she a wanton who enjoyed clandestine revels with her affianced and had secret thoughts about her sister's husband? What is the matter with me? she wondered.

Was she regretful that she had deceived the duke? Was her conscience bothering her over it? Did she feel guilty that Cally was so unhappy? Yes, she did, but no one had forced Cally to marry Valerian Hawkesworth. She had taken one look at his handsome face, considered the elevated social position she would attain, and agreed. I will not accept responsibility for my sister's unhappiness, Aurora decided.

That still left the problem of why she kept seeing Hawkesworth's face in her daydreams, even when she was contemplating the deliciously sensual St. John. Both were tall and lean. St. John had an attractive face with good features, but Valerian was extremely handsome, his face a combination of angles and planes. This is ridiculous, Aurora thought. It makes no difference what they look like. That cannot be the reason that I keep imagining Valerian instead of St. John in my dreams. Yet, I am not aware that I feel anything for the duke but irritation. I do not think I have ever met any man who so annoyed me. That is not love. Even with my inexperience I am wise enough to know that. I don't know why I keep thinking of him, but I will not do it any longer. I will not! It is disloyal to my dear St. John. George is wrong. St. John does love me. I am certain of it. Did he not say he had never felt for any woman what he felt for me? It must be love, and I will not allow Valerian Hawkesworth to spoil my happiness. I won't!

^{Chapter 10}

George Spencer-Kimberly and Miss Elizabeth Bowen were married on the thirtieth of October. It was a bright and crisp afternoon. The villagers had gathered outside St. Anne's to catch a glimpse of the bridal party. It was almost like family, for the Bowens had lived in Farminster for eleven generations, and there were several of those standing in the crowd who had not only seen Betsy Bowen grow up, but her father, Sir Ronald, as well.

It was a small affair with only close friends and nearby family invited. Almost everyone was known to the villagers. The bridegroom arrived on horseback with Mr. St. John and the duke. The ducal coach stopped directly before the church path to debark the old dowager, quite regal in burgundy velvet trimmed in beaver. Her snowy hair was piled high and had two fine plumes in it. Miss Spencer-Kimberly followed the dowager, quite pretty in dark green velvet, her ringlets bobbing. But then, to the onlookers' surprise, an open sedan chair was brought up to the coach and the young duchess was helped out and into the conveyance that was then carried into the church.

"She don't look good," an anonymous voice in the crowd said.

The dowager's sharp eyes swept the crowd for the speaker, but suddenly all was quiet. Linking her arm into Aurora's, they proceeded into St. Anne's. Inside, the church was filled with an air of expectancy. The midafternoon sun streamed through the stained glass windows, casting multicolored shadows on the oaken pews and stone floors. Fine white linen and autumn flowers adorned the altar with its gold candlesticks containing pure beeswax tapers. The two women proceeded to the front ducal pew and settled themselves. Calandra's sedan chair had been set in front of the pew so she might see everything from the best possible vantage point. St. John joined them, a quick smile on his lips as he greeted Cally, the dowager, and Aurora. The duke was to act as George's best man.

Lady Elsie nodded to them from across the aisle. Her eyes were red from weeping, and she clutched a sodden handkerchief. Her look was so woeful that the dowager leaned over, whispering softly to Aurora, "You would think her daughter were being forced into marriage with a monster, the silly woman!" Before Aurora might reply, however, the organ began to play a stately anthem, and the congregation arose to watch as the wedding ceremony began.

From the sacristy the bridegroom and the duke came forth to await the bride. Down the aisle tripped Misses Isabelle, Suzanne, Caroline, and Maryanne Bowen in yellow and white striped gowns, wreaths of late yellow roses in their hair. Now came Master William Bowen, aged ten, escorting the bride, who was radiant in her creamy taffeta gown with painted blue forget-me-nots, her hair piled atop her head, dressed with silk flowers and strings of pearls and lightly powdered. And awaiting them before the altar with George and the duke was the bride's father, who would marry the couple.

The ceremony was elegant yet simple. It was only the second wedding she had ever attended, Aurora thought as she watched her brother and his glowing bride. The church was peaceful, and it all seemed so right. How different it was from Cally's wedding in the hallway of the plantation house on that long-ago early spring day. Perhaps with God's blessing George's marriage would be a happier one than Cally's. Aurora hoped so with all her heart, but then, she knew Betsy and her brother would be happy. They already were, and it could only get better between them as the years went by because they were so well suited.

The newlyweds came down the aisle, smiling, the service over, their union formalized. They walked from the church to the cheers and good wishes of the villagers, the rest of the wedding party, and the guests following behind them to the vicarage, which was located on the other side of the churchyard. Aurora walked next to her sister, who despite her sedan chair looked exceedingly uncomfortable.

Are you all right?" Aurora asked.

"How could I be all right with this creature inside me?" Cally grumbled irritably. "Having to sit like this is horrible, and I can only imagine that I look a fright!"

"You can recline on a settee at the vicarage," Aurora said soothingly. "George and Betsy are so happy that you made the effort to come to the wedding, Cally."

"Why does George have to leave us?" Cally whined. "I don't want him to go, Aurora. I am afraid without George."

"That is so much nonsense, Cally," her sister chided her. "You were without George all those months before we arrived in England. And you know why George is going. He must run the plantation. Besides, do you want Mama left alone forever on St. Timothy?"

"I wish I could go with him," Cally whispered. "I wish it were two years ago, that Papa were alive, and we had never heard of Valerian Hawkesworth! If I had only known, Aurora, I would not have agreed to marry him. What if this creature I carry is not the son he wants? Then it will begin all over again, and I do not believe I could bear it!" Her voice had begun to have a hysterical edge to it.

"Calm yourself, Cally," Aurora said sternly. "This is our brother's wedding day. It is a happy time, and I will not have you spoiling it with an attack of the vapors! You will put a smile on your face, and you will speak politely with all who greet you. If you do not, I shall convince St. John, and believe me it will take little effort, to elope immediately, and I will leave you! You will not enjoy being alone with your dark thoughts and bad temper, I promise you!"

Calandra's defiance crumbled in the face of her sister's threat. She forced a wan smile onto her face. "You are hard," she murmured.

The front and rear drawing rooms of the vicarage were decorated with autumn flowers and branches of colored leaves and evergreens. Here the bride and groom received their guests and the many congratulations offered them. In the dining room the table was set with antique Irish linen and lace, silver candelabra, a silver bowl of late roses, and the bride's cake in the center of the table. There was champagne served from the duke's own cellars. Sir Ronald, a man of modest means, was extremely grateful for the Hawkesworths' generosity. A usually reserved man, he was expansive today in his delight over his daughter's excellent marriage. Betsy's union now joined his family in a tenuous marital connection with the Hawkesworths. This meant that he might seek just a bit higher for his other girls.

The wedding cake was cut, served, and eaten. The toasts were drunk to the couple's good fortune and happiness. Betsy discreetly hurried upstairs to remove her bridal finery and get into her traveling costume, aided by her sisters and her still-weepy mother. George was also nowhere to be seen, having gone to change from his satin breeches into something more practical for the road. The young couple would spend the next few days upon the road, making their way to London, and the vessel that would take them to St. Timothy.

Again Valerian Hawkesworth had shown an openhanded munificence. George and his bride would travel in the duke's large traveling coach. A baggage wagon would follow, overseen by Wickham and Betsy's maid. The newlyweds would spend three days in London at Farminster House before boarding the Royal George for their trip to St. Timothy. The duke had paid the first-class passage for the bridal couple so they might travel in the utmost comfort and privacy on this, their honeymoon voyage.

Dressed for travel, George Spencer-Kimberly came to bid his two sisters farewell. Cally could not help weeping. "I feel that I will never see you again," she sobbed piteously, but he reassured her fear as he always had since they were children.

"We'll come for a visit in five years' time, little sister," he told her. "Perhaps we will even be able to persuade Mama to come then."

"And our children will get to know one another," Aurora said cheerily. "Mama will be in her glory with all her grandchildren gathered about her, don't you think, Cally?"

Cally sniffled, and nodded slowly.

George now turned to Aurora. "You are certain?" he said meaningfully, looking directly at her. "I want you happy with St. John, and not miserable like our poor Cally." His hands rested lightly upon her shoulders, his eyes filled with concern.

"I am as sure as any woman can be," she answered him. "It is a good match, and I believe we suit, George. What more can there be but that. At least I do not fear the marriage bed like our sister."

"No"-his hazel eyes twinkled at her-"you do not, I suspect, but more than that I do not want to know," he chuckled. Then he kissed her upon the forehead, hugging her to him. "Be happy, dearest Aurora!"

"I will, George," she promised him.

He turned his attention back to Calandra, pulling her gently to her feet and embracing her, kissing her upon both cheeks. "Try and be good, Cally," he said softly. "In the end you will find that hearthside and children are the happiest life for a woman."

"Nonsense!" Cally replied with a touch of her old spirit. Then she sat back down again heavily. "Give Mama my love."

"Together," George said. "Forever," Cally replied. "As one!" Aurora finished.

"The bouquet! Betsy is going to toss her bouquet!" came the cry from the hallway. "Come along, girls!"

Giggling, pushing, and shoving for the best position, all the unmarried ladies hurried into the hallway, where Betsy stood halfway up the staircase, the now slightly wilting flowers clutched in her hand.

"Come on!" George pulled Aurora by the hand and pushed her into the fray.

"One! Two! Three!" chorused the other guests, and then the bride pitched her bouquet, which seemingly by magic went directly into Aurora's outstretched hands. She caught it, laughing, and blew a kiss in St. John's direction.

"Oh, that's not fair!" Isabelle Bowen protested. "We all know that Aurora will soon be married! She already wears the St. John betrothal ring."

"You're too young to be married yet, Bella," the new Mistress Spencer-Kimberly said with a smile. "Whoever catches the bouquet must wed within a year, or no one else present can marry. That is the rule. Do you want every girl in the county waiting for you to make up your mind regarding some young man? We all know that you have a terrible time deciding things!"

There were nods and chuckles of agreement all around. Then, before Isabelle could protest, the bridal couple was making its final farewells, climbing into the coach and departing. As the vehicle made its way down the drive with both Betsy and George hanging out its window, smiling happily and waving, Lady Elsie burst into fulsome tears, joined by her daughters, who continued waving weepily at the retreating carriage.

"Good grief!" the dowager muttered. "Where is our transport? I do not intend to stand here and be drowned by the tears of that silly woman and her four remaining chits. Valerian! Fetch the coach!" She turned her attention to her host and hostess. "A lovely wedding," she murmured. "May I thank you on behalf of the entire family, but we must be going. The duchess cannot take any more excitement, y'know. It was quite an effort for her to come, you understand. Good-bye! Good-bye!"

She practically leapt into the carriage, followed by Aurora. Cally had already been ensconced inside as her brother and his wife departed. The dowager's agility was remarkable for one of her advanced years. The door to the vehicle slammed shut, and it moved off.

"Thank heavens!" Mary Rose Hawkesworth said with feeling.

Both Cally and Aurora giggled, unable to help themselves.

The dowager herself smiled a small smile, saying, "Elsie Bowen is a sweet creature to be sure, but a silly and sentimental one as well. Why on earth was she crying? Five daughters to marry off, and the dowries not particularly large, and Betsy marries a handsome young man with a good income and excellent prospects. What, I ask you, is there to cry about that? Not to mention that her daughter is now connected to our family by marriage. That should help that chit Isabelle when she is ready to go husband hunting. I know a most suitable young baronet who should be ready to settle down in another year or two," the dowager concluded, her eyes narrowing at the prospect of matchmaking again.

"Gracious, ma'am," Aurora replied with a small chuckle, "you will have Lady Bowen's daughters all married off before she knows what has happened, and then she will really drown us all in her tears."

"Heh! Heh! Heh!" came the reply, and the dowager settled down with a pleased expression as they were driven home to Hawkes Hill.

Cally retired to her room immediately, complaining that she felt even worse than usual. The dowager and Aurora settled themselves in the family parlor overlooking the gardens to have tea.

"I do not like the look of Calandra," the dowager noted. "Her hands and her feet are quite swollen, and she has become sallow. Perhaps we should call in Dr. Michaels tomorrow."

Aurora nodded. "I believe it might be a good idea to err on the side of caution, ma'am. I have never known Cally to complain quite so much as she has in recent months."

The day ended, and the house grew quiet. Extra quiet, it seemed to Aurora without George. For some reason, she could not fall into a deep sleep. It was almost as if she were waiting for something to happen. She would doze and then waken, doze and waken. Then, just as she was finally drifting into a deep sleep, there came a frantic knocking upon her bedroom door. Aurora struggled awake again even as Martha hurried from her little chamber to answer the frantic knocking. The servant flung open the door, and there stood Molly.

"It's her grace," Molly sputtered. "She says she's in terrible pain and wants Miss Aurora to come to her."

Aurora arose quickly, putting her robe about her. "Did you call the duke? What about the dowager? Perhaps we should send for Dr. Michaels." She pushed past the two servants, who followed after her.

Entering her sister's bedroom, she saw Cally was even paler than she had been earlier. There were droplets of perspiration beading her forehead, and her breathing was heavy. "Aurora!" she.cried. "I am in the most dreadful pain. I think this creature may be coming early."

"You are certain it is not just something you ate, Cally?" Aurora queried her sister. "This is not a bit of indigestion?"

Calandra shook her head vehemently. "I drank no champagne but a sip to toast George and Betsy. I ate no cake, and have had no supper but for some tea with cream and sugar, for I have felt wretched all day. Ahhhhhh! I am being ripped apart by this thing!"

"Sally, wake Peters and have him send for Dr. Michaels," Aurora instructed the servant. "Then go to Browne and have him waken the duke."

"What about the old dowager?" Sally asked.

"Leave her sleep. There is nothing she can do to help us right now. Neither can the duke, for that matter, but it is his heir." She caressed Cally's swollen little hand. "It will be all right, Cally. This child will soon be born, early though he may be, and you will be a mother! How wonderful! I cannot wait until St. John and I produce."

Cally wrinkled her nose. "You will feel different when you are at my stage of life," she said. Then she brightened. "If the baby comes early, I shall be able to be back in London for Christmas. Perhaps it is all to the good. Ahhhhhhh! Nasty little beast! You don't think being born early will harm it, do you, Aurora?"

"Now, what would your sister, and her a maiden still, know about such things, your grace?" Martha said, and then she smiled at Cally. "Plenty of babies come early, and none the worse for it. Besides, 'taint that early. You had only a few more weeks to go."

Cally looked a bit more reassured, but then she said piteously, "Aurora, do not leave me. Please! I am so afraid."

"I won't leave you, little sister," Aurora said softly, and she sat down on the bed next to Calandra. "Do you know that in all the months you have carried your child, you have never once said what you would call him. What name do you favor?"

"I suppose they will want to call him after his father," Cally said glumly. " 'Tis tradition to call the Hawkesworth heir James or Charles. Valerian is the duke's middle name. His first is James, like his grandfather. I don't really care."

"But if you did," Aurora persisted gently, "what would you name this baby if the choice was all yours?"

"Robert, after Papa," Cally said.

"And if it is a little girl?"

"God forbid!" Cally cried, and then, "Ahhhhh! Why does it hurt so much? I did not know it would hurt so!"

Aurora took a cool cloth that Martha handed her and lay it on her sister's head. "I am certain it is a boy, but if it were a girl? The poor little mite must have a name, and it cannot be Robert."

"Charlotte, after the queen," Cally murmured, ever mindful of the social consequences of naming a daughter after the king's bride.

The bedchamber door opened and the duke entered, coming over to the bed. "Is she in labor?" he asked Aurora.

"I think so, your grace," Martha answered him. "Miss Aurora couldn't know the answer to such a thing. She has never been around a woman in this condition. I have. It's early, but not too early."

"Dr. Michaels has been sent for," Aurora said reassuringly.

"Should you be here?" he asked her gently.

"No, she shouldn't," Martha said firmly.

"Cally wants me here," Aurora replied. "Just until the doctor comes? Please, Valerian. Cally is frightened. It cannot be good for her, or for the baby, if she is in terror." She placed a pleading hand upon the sleeve of his dressing gown, her look importuning him to acquiesce.

"Ahhh!" Cally moaned, and she began to cry. "It hurts so!"

He nodded. "Until the doctor says you must go," he told her. "I will await him downstairs." He leaned over and told Cally, "You are being very brave, my dear, and I thank you." Then he kissed her on the forehead and left the room.

"I hate him!" Cally exclaimed.

"Do not say it, I pray you," Aurora answered her sister.

I do! If it were not for him, I should not be in such pain. I didn't want a child. I just wanted to be the Duchess of Farminster, and live in London, and give exquisite parties. I did not know I should have to do this. Ahhhhh!" She looked accusingly at her sister. "It is all your fault, Aurora! You did not tell me it would be like this!"

"Keep your voice down," Aurora warned Cally. "I did not tell you it would be like anything. I didn't know what it would be like to be the Duchess of Farminster. I just knew I didn't want to marry a stranger. You, however, were willing to do just that in order to be a duchess, Cally. I will share the blame, if there is any blame, but I will most certainly not take full responsibility for your actions!"

Calandra turned her head away from Aurora's gaze. They waited now in silence as the minutes ticked by, the laboring woman crying out when the pains overtook her, but there was little they could do until Dr. Michaels arrived. A kettle was brought from the kitchens, filled with water, and set in the coals of the fireplace to heat. Several stacks of clean cloths and clean linens were placed conveniently. The ducal cradle was positioned by the fireplace in readiness for its occupant.

Downstairs, the duke paced back and forth, nervously awaiting the arrival of Dr. Michaels. He was surprised when a total stranger was escorted into the house by one of his grooms. He was a tall, well-set gentleman with a ruddy complexion.

"Your grace? I am William Carstairs, doctor of medicine. I am Edward Michaels's cousin, and his new partner. Dr. Michaels has gone to York to see his ailing father. I was given to understand that her grace was not due to deliver until the end of next month, or possibly the middle of the following month."

"We do not even know if Calandra is in labor, but she is in pain," the duke said, holding out his hand and shaking that of the doctor. "Thank you for coming. It is our first child, and no one in the house except my elderly grandmother really knows about childbirth. We chose not to awaken the dowager, as she has had an active day with my brother-in-law's wedding to Miss Bowen. We had intended calling you in tomorrow at any rate, as Calandra has not looked particularly herself of late."

The doctor nodded. "Let us go upstairs, then," he said.

As he entered Cally's bedchamber, Martha's eyes grew wide with recognition. "Dr. Carstairs," she said, surprised.

"Martha? Martha Jones? What on earth are you doing here?" Then his eye spied Aurora. "And Miss Aurora?"

Aurora arose from her place upon the bed. "It is Cally, Dr. Carstairs. She is in terrible pain with this child."

The doctor nodded, and then said to the duke, "Take Miss Aurora from the room while I examine her sister."

Cally weakly protested, but was scarcely heard as the doctor turned his full attention to her.

"How do you know Dr. Carstairs?" the duke asked Aurora as he escorted her from the bedroom.

"He came from Jamaica with us when Mama married Papa. My father didn't want to lose another wife in childbirth for lack of proper medical attention," she explained. "He was with us for ten years, and in that time taught several of the more intelligent slaves and bondsmen the art of doctoring so we would always have someone to attend to our needs should there be illness or injury among us. Where is Dr. Michaels? Why didn't he come?"

The duke explained, and Aurora nodded. They stood silently for several minutes, and then the doctor joined them.

"Your wife is indeed in labor, your grace," he announced. "It is, however, a difficult labor, and the child is not quite turned properly, so I expect it will be some hours before she delivers." He turned to Aurora. "Go to bed, child. This is not the place for you now, although remembering your bravery, I know you would remain if I let you, Miss Aurora. I will not, however. Cally will be fine in my company, and I will keep Martha and Sally with me to help. We will send you word of your sister's progress as it develops."

"Let me say good night to her at least," Aurora begged, and the doctor nodded, escorting her back into the bedchamber.

"Why did you leave me?" Cally protested to her sister.

"Because the doctor made me," Aurora said. "You remember Dr. Carstairs, Cally? He only left St. Timothy when we were twelve. Dr. Michaels is away, and Dr. Carstairs will be delivering your baby. He will not let me stay, but Martha and Sally will remain."

"I am going to die," Cally said in a strangely calm voice.

"Nonsense," Aurora replied. "You are just frightened, little one. Dr. Carstairs will take excellent care of you."

"I am going to die," Cally repeated firmly.

"Do not say such a thing!" Aurora begged her.

"I do not blame you," Cally continued. "I wanted to be a duchess, Aurora. I didn't have to do it. I do not blame you."

"Come along now, child," the doctor said, his hand on Aurora's shoulder. "It is time for you to get some rest."

"You will not die, Cally," Aurora insisted.

"I love you," Cally replied as her sister was taken away, and she watched with sad eyes as the bedchamber door closed behind Aurora.

"What a mean thing to say to your sister," Martha scolded Calandra. "Having a baby won't excuse you. Shame on you!"

But Cally said nothing, instead turning her face away from Martha as she had from Aurora earlier. The hours moved on slowly at first, and then with exceeding speed. It was dawn, and then midday. The dowager came to see how Calandra was doing, speaking kindly to the girl, and then leaving, strangely disturbed.

"Why is it taking so long?" she demanded of the doctor as he brought her from the bedchamber. "The child decides to come early, and then will not be born. What is the matter, Dr. Carstairs?"

The doctor shook his head. "I do not know, your grace, but while I am concerned, the young duchess has been in labor only about ten hours. That is not really too long. We can be patient yet."

"Indeed," grumbled the dowager to Aurora, who had joined them. "Trust me, my dear Aurora, if it were the man having the baby, nine hours ago would have been long enough. Patience! Hummmph!"

"Cally says she is going to die," Aurora said quietly.

"Now, now," the dowager comforted the young woman, "that is just your sister's fear and her sense of the dramatic speaking. By tomorrow she will be delivered, beginning to feel well again, and planning her triumphant return to London, I am certain." But Mary Rose Hawkesworth was not certain at all. Calandra had not looked right for several days now, and this early labor did not bode well. She could easily die. Childbirth was a dangerous business.

The afternoon faded into evening. Aurora had asked twice to be allowed to visit with her sister, but Dr. Carstairs would not permit it. I)inner was a silent affair, and afterward Aurora sought her bedroom. There she found Martha, who looked quite exhausted, sitting dozing by the fire.

Aurora shook her gently. "Martha, what has happened? How is Cally? Is the baby born yet?"

"Dr. Carstairs sent me and Sally away to rest a bit, miss," her servant said. "It ain't good. Oh, it ain't good. Poor Miss Calandra is getting weaker by the minute, and the baby won't be born. She's going to die, miss. I'm so sorry to say it, but she is!"

Aurora ran from her bedchamber and to her sister's room. The doctor came forward as she burst through the door, but with a surprising show of strength the girl pushed him aside and went to her sister's side. "Cally! Cally! Open your eyes this minute," she commanded.

Calandra's hazel eyes opened slowly. She looked at Aurora with a weak smile. "I knew you would come before it was too late," she said. Then she shuddered, and her look grew vacant.

"Doctor!" Aurora's voice was almost a scream.

He came quickly to the bedside, and taking Cally's wrist, sought for a pulse. There was none. He put his ear to her chest, but the young woman's heart was stilled. Looking up, he said to Aurora, "I am sorry, Miss Aurora, but your sister is dead."

"The baby! Is the baby dead too? Oh, God! Don't let Cally's death have been in vain! What of the baby?" Aurora cried.

"Fetch me my medical kit," he ordered her. "Will you faint at the sight of blood? Go and fetch Martha. Hurry!"

She practically flung the black leather bag that held the necessities of his doctoring skills at him, and then she dashed from the bedroom, sobbing wildly, calling for Martha. The servant stumbled from her chair and practically collided with her young mistress.

"It's Cally," Aurora wept hysterically. "She is dead! Oh, Martha! My sister is dead, and it is all my fault! Go! Hurry! The doctor wants you to aid him. He will try to save the baby."

Martha dashed into the duchess's bedroom, where the doctor stood staring down in horror at the bed. "What is it, sir?" she asked him tremulously, attempting to see around his bulky figure.

"Come no farther!" he said sharply.

"What is it?" she repeated nervously.

He turned, white-faced. "Look if you will, but it is a terrible sight, Martha Jones. No wonder poor Calandra could not deliver her child. It is a monster, but praise God in his mercy, it is dead."

Determined but fearful, Martha gazed down upon Calandra, whose belly had been opened by the doctor in his desperate effort to save the duke's heir. "It's two babies," she said softly. "What's that about their necks, Doctor, and why are they so close together? Why, they look as if their poor little bodies are united." Then she gave a little scream. "God help us! They have but two legs! Oh, Doctor! What is it that poor Miss Cally has borne in her body all these months?"

He shook his head in his own wonderment. "I have heard of such a thing, but rarely. Had they been normally formed, they might have been twins, but of what sex, I cannot tell, for they are conjoined in such a manner to make it impossible. They have two heads and necks; each has a set of shoulders and an upper chest, and each has two arms, but the rest of their trunk is one, and there are but two legs. They have been strangled by their own cord, thank God! I will sew the duchess back up, Martha Jones, and we will tell the duke the child was dead in its mother's womb, which is no lie. There is no need to say what we have seen this day. There will be sorrow enough in this house, and as Miss Aurora is to be married herself in a few months, there is no need to frighten her with her poor sister's misfortune, eh, Martha?"

Martha nodded. The sight of Cally's monster would remain with her for the rest of her days. It was horrible. Then she had a thought. "They'll ask what the babe was, Doctor. Tell them a wee girl. There will be so much sadness over this as it is. The duke has been good to us. Don't let him think he lost a son as well as a wife."

"It is no son," the doctor said softly, "but I do not think it is a daughter either." Then he shook himself and said, "Go and fetch the duke, but I do not want him to come into this room yet. Ask him to await me in the library, Martha. And see to your mistress. She was here when her sister died. Calandra's last words were for her."

As Martha left the room, the doctor began to sew up his patient's belly. He was astounded by what he had seen, and wondered what could have possibly caused Calandra to conceive such a creature. Shaking his head, he worked with swift, neat stitches. He didn't want anyone else seeing what he and Martha had seen. Poor girl, he thought. If she had lived, if the creature had survived, what would have become of them all? No mother could surely look upon such a monstrosity and love it. It might have driven her to madness.

Martha hurried down the hallway. Her first concern was for her mistress. The duke could wait. They all could wait. Aurora's earlier words had disturbed Martha, and she had to make her understand that she was not responsible for Calandra's fate. Cally had been offered a choice, and had willingly, nay, eagerly, accepted the responsibility of being Valerian Hawkesworth's wife. No. Not his wife. His duchess. Cally had not been a true or good wife at all, God rest the poor soul.

She could hear Aurora weeping bitterly even before she entered the bedroom. The girl was sprawled across her bed, sobbing as if her heart were broken, and in a sense, Martha realized, it was. Going to her mistress, she gathered the girl to her bosom and attempted to soothe her sorrow. "There, miss, there. It was God's will, and there's no standing against God's will now, is there?"

"Th-th-the b-b-b-baby?" Aurora queried.

"Dead too, a girl," Martha said shortly.

Aurora cried all the harder. "It was all for nothing," she sobbed. "All for nothing, Martha. Oh, my poor Cally." She looked up at her servant, her lovely face all red and wet. "It's my fault Cally is dead, Martha. It's all my fault! Did you and Mama not warn me that no good ever came of deception? But I would not listen, would I? And now my sister is dead because of my selfishness!" Her weeping began afresh, her whole body shaking turbulently.

Martha drew in a deep breath and then she grasped Aurora by the shoulders and looked her directly in the eyes. "It ain't your fault, miss. You didn't force Miss Cally into marriage. She had a choice, but the silly girl was so overwhelmed with the idea of being a duchess that she was just as headstrong and willful as you're wont to get. All Miss Cally wanted of her marriage was to be beautiful and acclaimed, wear fine clothing and drive in a magnificent carriage, and give parties that all the mighty would come to after fighting over her invitations. But we didn't know that, did we? Your parents set you both a good example of a Christian marriage, miss. Miss Cally knew what was expected of her, but she refused to be a good wife to the duke. None of that is your fault, and I won't let you blame yourself for it!"

"But I am to blame, Martha," Aurora said woefully. "My father arranged a fine marriage for me with his friend's son, and when I learned of it I spurned it, and would not do my duty. I tempted Cally because I suspected that she would adore the idea of being a duchess. I was right, and she took my place. By doing so, it has cost her her life. Had I done what my father expected of me and married Valerian Hawkesworth, my sister would be alive today. I do not hold myself responsible for Cally's behavior or actions, but I do hold myself responsible for my own."

"Well," Martha said in hard, practical tones, "you can't change what's done, miss. Miss Cally is gone, and that's a fact." She arose from the bed. "I got to go and fetch the duke for the doctor. Dry your eyes and wash your face. Then go find the old dowager. She'll need a bit of comforting to get over this shock." Martha stamped from the room, leaving Aurora alone once more.

The servant found the duke in his library and requested that he await Dr. Carstairs, beating a hasty retreat before Hawkesworth might ask her any questions. She met the doctor coming down the staircase as she was hurrying back up.

"Find the duchess's maids, Martha," he told her, "and do what you can to make her look presentable." Then he moved on down the stairs and entered the duke's library.

Valerian Hawkesworth came quickly to his feet, looking anxiously at William Carstairs. "My wife, the child?" he said, but from the look on the doctor's face, he knew the news would not be good.

"I am very sorry, your grace, but they are both deceased. The labor was extremely difficult for your wife. She was unable to birth the child, and her poor little heart just gave out. I opened her belly surgically to save the infant-it was a girl-but it was dead, its cord wrapped tightly about its neck. I sewed up the incision, leaving the child with its mother. You have my deepest sympathies."

The duke nodded silently. Vain, foolish Calandra, he thought. She is dead, and our daughter with her. Poor girl. At least she will never again have to endure my attentions. A daughter. I would have enjoyed a daughter, but I needed a son. "I understand, Dr. Carstairs," he finally said. "We could all see that Calandra was having a difficult time these past months." He walked over to the mahogany sideboard and poured two tumblers of whiskey, handing one to the doctor. "I hope her suffering was not too great. Sit down, Doctor. You look tired."

"I am" came the admission as the doctor sat opposite the duke in the chairs that flanked the blazing fireplace. The fire was warm, and between it, and the excellent whiskey he was sipping, William Carstairs asked the question of Valerian Hawkesworth that he had been dying to ask him ever since he had entered the house. "I was always given to understand, your grace, that you were to marry the heiress of St. Timothy, and yet your wife was Calandra Spencer-Kimberly. How, may I ask, did your marriage come about?"

"I did marry the heiress to St. Timothy," the duke said. The poor doctor was obviously tired and confused.

"No, sir, you did not" came the firm reply. "Aurora Kimberly is the heiress of St. Timothy. I lived on the island, in the Kimberly house, for ten years. I was the only white man of breeding with whom Mr. Kimberly could speak, and we did so each evening after the meal was over. We sat either on the veranda of the house or in his library, drinking fruit juice and rum, and discussing all manner of things. He confided in me the betrothal agreement he and his good friend, Charles, Lord Hawkesworth, had arranged between their children even before Miss Aurora was born. He had not told his wife of the matter, for he hoped to make an equally good match for Calandra one day, and he wanted no jealousy over Aurora's match until he had a marriage set for his stepdaughter.

"I came to St. Timothy from Jamaica with the Kimberlys when they were first married. It was hoped in those days that his third wife might give him the heir he wanted, and so he desired a doctor on the island for emergencies. There had been none when Emily Kimberly died. I watched both Miss Aurora and Miss Calandra grow up. I left the island only five years ago to return to England. I would know them if they were my own daughters, your grace. Your duchess was Calandra Spencer-Kimberly, Robert's stepdaughter, not Aurora, his daughter, and his heiress, of that I am absolutely certain."

Valerian Hawkesworth was numb with shock, and at the same time he felt a burning anger beginning to arise deep within him. What kind of a deception had been played upon him, and why? "I am as confused about this matter as you are, Dr. Carstairs," he said in a cool, even voice. "I was given to believe Calandra was the heiress, and certainly no part of her dowry was withheld from me. Mr. Kimberly is deceased, you may know. As I wished to marry and return to England as quickly as possible, a minister was brought from Barbados to perform the ceremony. My wife and I departed for home. Aurora and George came nine months later. Mistress Kimberly wanted them to seek out English mates. My brother-in-law married Miss Bowen yesterday, and they are even now on their way to St. Timothy. Aurora is to marry Mr. St. John in the spring."

"I did not know about Robert Kimberly," the doctor replied.

"I would request that you do not mention this matter to anyone," the duke said. "I will wish to investigate it myself, and I certainly desire no scandal at this time. My wife and child must be buried with dignity and honor. Nothing must detract from that."

"Of course, your grace," the doctor said, and finishing off his whiskey, he arose. "I must return to the surgery. With my cousin away, there may be another in need of my services." He bowed politely, and the duke nodded, standing.

"Thank you, Dr. Carstairs," he said, ushering him from the library and into the foyer of the house.

There Peters awaited with his long, dark cloak. Helping the doctor to don his garment, he said, "Your coach is waiting outside, sir. The horses are rested and fed, and your coachman is ready." The butler escorted the doctor outside, and then, returning inside, shut the door behind him, certain in the knowledge that the man was being helped into his coach by the grooms assigned the task.

The duke was already climbing the stairs, and seeking out his grandmother. He found Aurora with her, comforting the old lady, and was torn between his anger and the pleasure he took in her kindness to Lady Hawkesworth. "Go to your room, Aurora," he said quietly. "You look exhausted, and there is nothing more that can be done tonight."

"George?" she said in a whispery voice. "Should we send after George and Betsy, Valerian?"

"I think not," he replied, looking to his grandmother for confirmation, and she nodded. "There is nothing they can do for poor Calandra, and I don't want to spoil their honeymoon. We shall send word on the next vessel bound for the western Indies. It will give them time to reach home and give your mother a little happiness before they must learn of this tragedy. Now, go to your room."

She curtsied to them and departed.

"What is it, Valerian?" his grandmother asked when Aurora was gone. "Something is distressing you, and it is not just the deaths that have happened in this house tonight. What is the matter?"

"Calandra was not the heiress to St. Timothy," he said, repeating what the doctor had told him.

"I know," the dowager responded when he had finished speaking.

"You know?" His look was incredulous. "You knew the deception perpetrated upon me and you said nothing? Why, Grandmama? Why?"

"I learned the truth only a few months ago," his grandmother said quietly. "From the day I met her, Aurora seemed familiar to me, and yet I could not understand why. Then, several weeks back, I was in the family portrait gallery when I came across the portraits of the first duke's two younger sisters. Catherine Hawkesworth was married to the Kimberly, who was given the grant of St. Timothy by King Charles II, and her sister, Anne, was wed to the Meredith who shared the island with the Kimberlys. Aurora is Catherine's image, and very much Anne's as well. I realized then why Aurora had seemed so familiar, and I confirmed it with her servant, Martha."

"But why?" he rasped, his head reeling.

"She didn't want to marry a stranger, and she didn't care if she was a duchess or not. She wants to wed for love," the dowager said softly. "Calandra, however, was not so particular, I fear."

"Aurora didn't want to be a duchess?" he said wonderingly. Then he shook his head. "There will be time to deal with that matter, but first we must see that poor Calandra and her daughter are buried decently in the family plot. She was my wife for all the deception. We can do no less, Grandmama."

"Leave it rest, Valerian," Mary Rose Hawkesworth said. "If Calandra had been safely delivered of her child, it would have been different."

"But she was not, Grandmama, and now, poor girl, she is dead," the duke replied quietly.

"It was a mismatch, and granted it was the wrong match, but nothing of the heiress's dowry was withheld from you, Valerian," his grandmother said. "Let it be, and bury your wife with dignity."

"We will bury Calandra honorably," he answered her calmly, "but then I will deal with that deceiving little bitch who should have been my wife. So, Miss Aurora Kimberly did not wish to be a duchess. She will shortly learn that the choice is not hers to make."

"Valerian," his grandmother said sternly, "Aurora is affianced to St. John. Their marriage is scheduled for May."

He laughed, and it was a hard sound. "I'm afraid if my cousin wishes to marry in May, he will have to find another bride. Aurora is mine!"

Chapter 11

Charlotte Calandra Hawkesworth, Fourth Duchess of Farminster, was laid to rest in the family plot on a hillside overlooking the estate lake. The funeral was private, the young duchess mourned by her husband, her sister, Lady Hawkesworth, and three servants. Sir Ronald said the Anglican service of Christian burial over the body, and at the duke's request agreed to explain to everyone that the family's grief was such that they could not bear the weight of a larger gathering.

"Understandable, understandable," murmured the cleric. "A terrible loss, the duchess and her child both." Then he left them to their mourning, grateful that Betsy and her husband had not been called back and their honeymoon spoiled. It had been generous of both the duke and his sister-in-law in their great trial and time of grief to think of the newlyweds.

"I must write to Mama," Aurora said when they had returned to the house after the burial.

"I will write her too," the dowager said.

"And I," the duke told them.

"I cannot remain at Hawkes Hill for much longer," Aurora said. "It is not proper with my sister gone."

"You will remain," Valerian Hawkesworth said firmly.

"I cannot!" she cried desperately.

"You can, and you will, and I think we both know why, Aurora," he said coldly. "Besides, you have my grandmother to chaperon you. No one will think ill of you for staying."

"St. John will not be happy," she told him.

"My cousin's state of mind should be of no concern to you," Valerian Hawkesworth answered her, "but I shall speak to him myself very shortly."

Aurora fled up the staircase to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her as if the devil himself were after her. "He knows!" she told Martha, pale and wide-eyed. "He knows!"

"Knows what, miss?" Martha was puzzled.

"That I am the one. The one he should have married!" Aurora replied frantically. "Oh, Martha! He looked like he wanted to kill me!"

"Oh, miss, how could he know?" Martha said. "Unless… oh, Lord help us! The doctor must have said something. He and your papa were good friends, being the only two of their kind on the island. The doctor must have known about your betrothal, and when he saw Miss Cally got curious as to why she was the duchess and not you."

"He is going to speak to St. John!" she said frantically.

"Oh, the duke wouldn't make you marry him when he knows you love Mr. St. John, miss. Besides, it would cause a terrible scandal, and Miss Cally only just dead with her poor child. You're overwrought, miss. Now, you come and have a nice lie-down. I'll go get you some tea."

"No!" Aurora clutched at her servant's arm. "We have to leave Hawkes Hill, Martha. We must!"

"And where will we go?" Martha said in practical tones. "You can't go to Primrose Court even with Mr. St. John's mother in residence. It would cause a terrible calumny. Besides, your wedding is going to have to be postponed for a year. We're in mourning now, y'know."

"I could shelter with the Bowens," Aurora said desperately.

"In that rabbit warren of a house, and with all those daughters, not to mention that little devil, Master Willie? There's no room for you there, miss. Come, now, and lie down for me, dearie."

"Then we must go home to St. Timothy!" Aurora decided. "I have my mother's house! He cannot take that from me, and in a year's time St. John can come for me, and we will be married. We do not have time to get to London to catch the Royal George, but there will be another sailing of another ship in a few weeks' time. That's it! That's what we shall do, Martha! We shall go home!"

"Yes, miss, now, lie down and try to rest while I fetch you a little tea. You're all upset with Miss Cally's death." She settled the girl, and then, leaving the room, the curtains drawn, hurried to speak with the dowager.

"Poor child," the dowager sympathized. "My grandson would glower at her darkly, and frighten her."

"Does he know, ma'am?" Martha ventured. "Excuse my boldness, but I love Miss Aurora. I've raised her since she was a baby."

"The duke knows he was deceived," the dowager answered the servant. "What he will do, I do not know, but I promise you I will do my very best to protect Aurora from his anger and caprice."

"It was the doctor, weren't it?" Martha said. "When I first saw him I was so glad to see him, I didn't realize he might be the key to our undoing. How am I to keep my mistress calm, ma'am? How am I to keep her from running away back to St. Timothy?"

The dowager arose, and opening a small drawer in her desk, drew out a little ivory box. Opening it, she drew out a small, gilded round pellet. "Crush it and put it in her tea, Martha. It will make her sleep the night through, and after a good night's rest Aurora will certainly think more clearly and forget this nonsense of running away. Then I will speak to her myself tomorrow, and we will decide upon a course of action that will calm her fears."

"Oh, thank you, your grace," Martha said gratefully, curtsying. She departed the dowager's rooms and went to the kitchens, where she fixed a small tray with bread and butter, some dark, rich fruitcake, and a small pot of tea. Then, carrying it, she returned to Aurora, finding her up and pacing the bedroom. Martha placed her tray on the piecrust table and said briskly, "Now, you sit down and have your tea, miss. Then I'm going to tuck you up in bed, and after a good night's rest we'll plan our journey, eh?" She smiled at the girl, drawing her to the table.

Aurora sat down, taking the saucer of tea from Martha, sipping it nervously, nibbling on the bread and butter, eating a small slice of the fruitcake. Gently Martha encouraged the girl to finish the tea, and poured her more, until the little pot was emptied. Aurora's eyelids grew heavy, and she did not protest when Martha helped her to her bed and tucked her in beneath the down coverlet. She was asleep even as Martha blew out the bedside taper. Taking the tea tray, the servant returned to the kitchens and then hurried back to her mistress. Entering the bedroom, she gave a small cry at the figure looming over Aurora's bed.

"It is only me," the duke said, quickly calming her fears. He turned to face her, and Martha thought how handsome he was.

"You shouldn't be here, your grace," she gently scolded him.

"She is so lovely," he responded. "Why is she sleeping so heavily, Martha? Is she all right?"

"Your grandmama gave me a little pill to put in her tea, your grace. Miss Aurora is heartbroken over her sister's death and wants to go home to St. Timothy. She would have tried to leave tonight if we had not stopped her. She ain't slept too good since Miss Cally died, and she ain't thinking clearly."

"Her home is here at Hawkes Hills," the duke replied.

"You ain't going to let her marry Mr. St. John, are you, your grace?" Martha asked him candidly. It was bold of her, but she had to know if she herself was going to decide what to do.

Valerian Hawkesworth shook his head. "Aurora was betrothed to me, Martha. That she and her family deceived me makes no difference. Under the law, Aurora is my betrothed wife. If poor Calandra had lived, if she had given me a son, it would have been a different matter altogether even if I had eventually learned of the subterfuge. Calandra, however, is dead, and our child with her. And Dr. Carstairs has exposed the trickery that was practiced upon me."

"But, your grace," Martha said softly, "you were married to Charlotte Kimberly, and you did receive her dowry according to the terms of the agreement your father and Robert Kimberly arranged all those years ago. Nothing was withheld from you."

Valerian Hawkesworth chuckled. "Indeed, Martha, but it was the wrong Charlotte Kimberly. The agreement between my father and Aurora's was made even before her birth, before he wed his third wife, Oralia Spencer, and adopted her two children. The Kimberlys have defrauded me by palming the wrong bride off on me. Should my cousin, St. John, learn of it, and be married to Aurora, he would attempt to claim the island for himself. Not because he really wanted it, but out of plain malice and mischief. I cannot allow him to do that. Besides, your mistress is, by law, mine. I intend to have what is mine." Then, in a great gesture of good manners, he nodded to her, and, turning, departed.

Martha was astounded by his politeness. After all, she was only a servant; granted, an upper-class servant, but a servant nonetheless. The duke had taken the time to speak with her at length, and answer her questions although he was certainly not bound to do so. She liked him. She had always liked him, and had never understood Aurora's antipathy toward Valerian Hawkesworth. Now, however, there would be war between the two. Martha decided then and there not to reveal a word of what had passed between herself and the duke tonight. It would only drive Miss Aurora to reckless actions, and even without knowing what Martha knew, her young mistress was going to behave in a hasty and foolhardy manner. Of that Martha could be certain.

The duke was the right husband for Aurora, and Martha had always believed it. Mr. St. John had been a good alternate, of course, but Martha suspected that he was as reckless and adventurous as Aurora herself. They might have been a good match, but on the other hand, it could have proved a disastrous marriage with St. John encouraging Aurora to hector the duke even as he did. Besides, Miss Aurora deserved to be a duchess even if she thought she didn't want to be. And it was what Mr. Kimberly, God rest his good soul, had wanted for his daughter. At that moment Martha decided that she would aid the dowager and her grandson to bring about the marriage between Aurora and the duke. It could be no betrayal of her mistress to do what Martha knew in her heart was the right thing. She had known it all along, as had George Spencer-Kimberly and his mother.

When she awoke in the morning, Aurora seemed calmer, Martha thought. She ate her breakfast, wrote to her mother, and complained of the headache, but she said nothing about leaving to return to St. Timothy. Perhaps, the servant thought hopefully to herself, she has given up the idea, and so she reported to the dowager. But Aurora kept to her bedchamber, claiming fatigue, and had both her later meals brought to her upon a tray as well. Her appetite, however, was quite good. She took to her bed early, reading until she fell asleep.

"Poor lamb," Martha said to herself as she snuffed the candles and banked the fires in the fireplace before seeking her own little room.

Aurora awoke as the clock struck three, lying quietly in her bed, she smiled to herself. Since childhood she had always slept seven hours exactly unless she was ill. She had deliberately gone to bed early so she might awaken in the middle of the night and effect her escape from Hawkes Hill. Martha, she sadly realized, could no longer be trusted. She was almost certain her maid had drugged her tea the evening before. Obviously Martha did not approve of her plans, and that was unfortunate. She would have to leave her servant behind, but she knew the dowager would treat Martha well and keep her in her employ, so she felt no guilt over her decision.

She slipped from her bed, shivering at the chill of the November night. She was going to London. Once there, she would find respectable lodgings and book passage on the next boat to the western Indies. She had more than enough money, most of what she had come to England with, for the duke had paid for all of her expenses since her arrival. There was a single public coach that came past the main road outside the estate early in the morning once a week. That morning was the day. The coach would take her to the town of Hereford, and from there she would be able to get the London coach. She was taking none of her possessions so that no one would suspect she had gone far until possibly the morrow, at which point it would be too late to find her. She would dress plainly so as not to attract attention, and carry only a small reticule with her funds, and a brush to keep her hair neat.

The dress she chose was a simple dark blue silk, respectable but not showy. She wore several petticoats beneath it, including a flannel one, and knit woolen stockings. She would buy whatever else she needed in London before sailing. Pinning her hair into a neat chignon, she picked up her fur-lined cloak and slipped from the bedroom. She walked carefully, tiptoeing down the staircase and across the foyer to the front door. Cautiously she drew back the bolts on the front door.

"And where, my dear betrothed, do you think you are going?" the duke's voice shattered the silence of the night.

Aurora whirled to see him in the dimly lit doorway of his library. "1 am going home," she said. "You cannot stop me, Valerian!" lietrothed! He had called her his betrothed. So he really did know.

"I think not," he said coldly. Then he closed the distance between them, and snatching her cloak from her grip, flung it across the foyer. An arm reached out, wrapping itself tightly about her waist, forcing her body against his in a proximity that set her senses reeling. "Hawkes Hill is your home, Aurora. It was settled even before your birth, when our fathers pledged us in marriage. A marriage you sought to avoid with deception, putting your sister in your place."

"You got what you wanted!" she cried. "You got St. Timothy and a wife. What more do you want, Valerian? What more?"

"I want you, Aurora!" he said fiercely, and his hand caressed her face, his dark blue eyes scorching her with their intensity.

"Was not my sister enough for you?" she demanded angrily. "You mistreated her, Valerian! She told me so!"

"Calandra was a marble Venus, my dear Aurora," he said in hard tones. "She hated my touch, and I had to force myself upon my own wife in order to get her with child. She lay like a dead woman, her head turned from me, her body as cold as stone each time I took her."

"But you still managed to engage your lust, Valerian, didn't you? Did you enjoy your rape of my sister? How could you do it?" Aurora demanded, her eyes filled with tears as she remembered Cally.

"1 thought of you," he said with devastating effect, almost pleased to see the shock in her aquamarine-blue eyes. "I aroused my baser instincts as Calandra would have called them, by remembering the sight of your coming naked from the sea one day on St. Timothy."

"Oh, my God!”

"I am not proud of it, Aurora," he told her. "Do not ever think I was proud of what I had to do, but your sister hated the physical act of love, and I had to have an heir. Calandra was my wife, and that was her duty. I would have given her anything she wanted if she had only given me an heir. I quickly accepted the fact that she did not love me because I realized she would never love any man, nor would she cuckold me. She loved her position, and she loved my weaith and all it afforded her. It was all she sought, but she was too selftsh to give me what I sought in return for what I gave her. 1 regret her death."

"Yet you are glad she is no longer here to trouble you!" Aurora accsed him. "Do not deny it, Valerian!"

''I wished your sister no harm, Aurora, but she is dead, and no, I will not deny my relief at being freed from her. You would despise me if I did, for you would then know me as a liar, and I am not that."

''I despise you anyhow," Aurora declared angrily. "You cannot stop me Valerian. I am going home to be with my family, and to wait out my year of mourning for Cally. But when that year is over, I shall marry St. John, as we have planned. I hate you! I will always hate you for what you did to my poor little sister!"

It was as if the small thread of sanity and reason that had been holding him together for these past months was suddenly snapped. "You deceitful little bitch," he snarled at her. "You are going nowhere and as for my cousin, St. John will not have you, my dear, after I have finished with you!" Then he began ripping her bodice m^ her skirts.

With a shriek Aurora pulled away from him, turning and running for the stairs. Halfway up he caught her, his hands furiously shredding the fabric of her garments until she was virtually naked despite her valiant efforts to fend him off and escape once more. Finally Aurora attempted to scream, but he clapped his hand over her mouth even as he picked her up in his arms and continued on up the stairs and down the hallway to his bedroom. Kicking the door open and then shut behind him, he walked across the room, flinging her onto the bed as her hair came loose from its neat chignon, spilling about her shoulders.

She had to get up, she realized. She had to push past him and run for her very life. Yet she lay upon her back, watching with fascination as he yanked his own clothing off. Boots were kicked across the room, followed by breeches, drawers, stockings, and shirt. He stood over her, and she could not for the life of her stop staring. He was beautifully proportioned, but he looked hard as iron. I have to get up, Aur0ra thought desperately, yet her own limbs felt weakened and incapable of supporting her. She made a single futile attempt.

He pushed her back. Then, putting one knee upon the bed, he bent, cuppjng her face between his two big hands, and kissed her. It was a deep, slow kiss, his mouth warm and demanding upon hers, and betrayed by her own body, Aurora's lips softened beneath his. She sighed deeply, her mouth opening against the pressure of his. Their breaths mingled, and she could taste the whiskey on his. For a single moment in time, sanity returned, and she attempted to struggle away from him, but then his tongue slipped between her lips to touch hers. Emotions she had never really quite understood exploded within her. Their tongues entwined and caressed until Aurora was completely breathless and near to fainting.

He seemed to sense her state, and lifted his mouth from hers so she could catch her breath. Then slowly he began to kiss her face, his lips grazing softly and warmly over the skin. Delicately he touched the corners of her mouth, her cheeks, her chin, her eyelids, her forehead. Not just once, but several times over. Then, pushing her head back with the heel of his palm, he began to place warm kisses upon her straining throat, lingering momentarily in the beating hollow at the base of it. She almost screamed when his hot tongue began licking at the column of her neck, sweeping up the length of it and then back down again. Her silken flesh was utterly intoxicating.

"Oh, God," Aurora murmured. How could he do this to her? How could his passion have such an incredible effect upon her? She loved St. John, didn't she? Did she even know what love was? She was beginning to realize that she didn't. How could she feel this way about Valerian Hawkesworth when he was forcing her. But he isn't, the voice in her head said. You want him. You have always wanted him. Has it not been his face you saw in your dreams? "No!" she cried aloud.

"Yes!" his voice grated back at her. "Yes!"

Lying next to her now, he drew her into his arms. Gently he began to fondle her breasts. Aurora quivered with anticipation, desperate for the feel of his mouth upon her nipples, but instead he caressed the small rounds of warm flesh with delicate fingertips, brushing over the skin lightly, teasing at the little nubs until they darkened and grew taught with their rising excitement. Finally, when her breasts were swollen so hard that Aurora thought they would burst, he touched the very tips of her with his facile tongue, brushing against them quickly at first, and then each in its turn slowly. And at last he took a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard upon her until she gasped, feeling the wetness against her thighs.

Shyly, she touched the dark head upon her chest, not daring to stroke him, not even certain she should if she could get up the nerve. What was a woman supposed to do when a man made love to her? She remembered the bitterness in his voice as he spoke of her sister lying like a dead woman when he had exercised his husbandly rights. Still, she should not encourage him, for he had no right to make love to her. No right at all! "Ohhhhhh!" His tongue and his kisses were moving down her torso, and her belly was both aching and roiling with nervousness.

"You are so soft," he murmured, looking up at her a moment, the anger now gone from his eyes.

"Let me go, Valerian," she pleaded. "Why must you shame me?"

"You do not feel shamed, you little liar," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "You know damned well I intend marrying you. Besides, you are as warm and as willing as your sister was cold and unwilling. I will never let you go, Aurora!"

"Why?"

"Because you are mine," he answered, and then his lips began to kiss her upon her belly, pushing his tongue into her navel to tease at her until, unable to help herself, she began to writhe beneath his attentions.

I will not be his, Aurora thought mutinously. I will not! Yet if she would not, then why did she lie in his embrace, enjoying his passionate attentions? Cally had once said she must be wanton. Was she a wanton? Yet Cally had also said Valerian Hawkesworth had abused her with his attentions, and Aurora did not feel abused at all by him. Still, she felt it her duty to make a further protest of his actions. "You will ruin me for St. John," she said low.

"You mean St. John has not ruined you for me?" he mocked her.

Aurora attempted to smack him, but he caught her hand, and kissed the palm. "I am a virgin," she snapped furiously.

"Then I shall certainly ruin you for St. John," he agreed.

"But why?" she demanded.

"Because you are mine," he repeated, piercing her with a hungry gaze. "You belong to me, Aurora. You feel the attraction between us every bit as much as I feel it, but you will not admit to it. St. John will not have you or St. Timothy," he said fiercely.

"But you already have St. Timothy," she said desperately.

"No, I do not. Not until its heiress is my wife, and you are its heiress. If my cousin learned of it, and you were his wife, he would take the island for himself."

"I will admit to deceiving you, and sign my property over to you," she said, half angry. This wasn't about her, or had it been about Cally. It was about land.

"No," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I want you," he answered her. "I want you!"

"You will never have me," she cried. "Not really!"

He laughed at her mockingly. "Oh, yes, I will, Aurora. You cannot deny me, for the fires of passion run as hotly in your veins as they do in mine. You are not your sister, cold and unfeeling. You are warm, and loving, and I shall have you! All of you!"

"No!" she protested, but she knew that she lied not only to him, but to herself as well. She could feel his member now pulsing insistently against her thigh. She whimpered, but whether from fear or eagerness she would never know. His big body slid over hers.

"Put your arms about me, Aurora," he whispered to her. "Hold tight, my precious, and I will take you to paradise."

She felt the tears prickling behind her eyelids, and she could not keep the words from her lips. "I am afraid, Valerian."

"No, my precious, not you!" he reassured her. "Trust me, Aurora. Do you not know I love you, you little fool?"

"I don't believe you," she said, sliding her arms about him.

"You will in time," he reassured her.

She was so ready for him. He slipped just the head of his manhood into her passage, and feeling it, she stiffened, but he caressed her face and made soft, reassuring noises in her ear even as he moved himself a little deeper. She could feel the walls of her channel giving way reluctantly, opening before him, welcoming him. Then suddenly he ceased his forward movement. She felt him pressing against something within her that seemed to be impeding him. He drew back and pushed against it. Aurora cried out, but he would show her no mercy, and pulling himself back again, he thrust hard within her, causing her to scream softly, and the tears to slide down her cheeks.

It hurt! Dear God how it hurt! The pain swept up her body into her chest, almost suffocating her with its intensity. It swept down into her thighs, making them feel leaden and incapable of movement. She could feel him, hard and throbbing, now deep within her. She sobbed, and he kissed the tears from her face even as he began a rhythmic movement within her aching body. And the pain was gone. As cruelly as it had overtaken her, it was now totally gone, to be replaced with a wave of pleasure that swept over her, leaving her gasping with surprise. Her body began to find his rhythm, and imitate it with an instinct she hadn't even known she possessed until then.

"That's it, my precious," he encouraged her tenderly.

Aurora's hands found the flat of his back. Her fingers began to knead at him first, and then, unable to help herself, she was clawing at him. He groaned as if pained, but he seemed to be waiting for something. Slowly, Aurora felt a change taking place within her. There was nothing but an incredible, wonderful feeling claiming her, and she was drowning in it, and didn't care. Then suddenly her body convulsed, and she cried aloud, the pleasure so intense, she thought she would die. Half sobbing, she clung to him even as his member released its burning love juices within her, and they both slipped into a half-conscious state.

He rolled off her after a few moments, his arms wrapped tightly about her, holding her close. Aurora listened to the beat of his heart beneath her ear. His chest was smooth and warm. She felt very shy of him now. The intimacy between them had been more than she had ever anticipated, and she wasn't certain what to say.

"Did I hurt you badly?" he asked her softly, his hand caressing her as he spoke. It was as if he were attempting to quiet a skittish animal.

"It hurt terribly, and then it was wonderful," she answered. "Will it hurt the next time?"

"No," he said.

"Will it be wonderful again?"

"If you want it to be," he replied, smiling in the darkness at the ingenuousness of the question. Then, "I will see the magistrate tomorrow about obtaining a special license so we may be married right away."

"I will not marry you, Valerian," Aurora told him.

"Yes, my dear, you will" came his reply. "We are pledged."

"I will be your mistress if you will, but you cannot hold me to a promise our fathers made, Valerian," she insisted.

"I can, Aurora, and I will," he said in implacable tones.

"You cannot force me," she insisted.

"Oh, but I can. I could send a new overseer and manager for the plantation on the next boat to the Indies with orders to dispossess your mother, your brother, and his wife, Aurora."

She pulled away from him, crying, "You would not be so cruel!"

"Will you test my resolve, my precious?" he asked her.

"But you said you loved me!" She sounded betrayed.

"I do, which is why I will not let you behave foolishly. You could be carrying my child even now, Aurora." He forced her onto her back and played along her lips with his fingers, finally pushing one of them into the warmth of her mouth. "Suck it!" he commanded her.

She couldn't help herself, and did as he bid her. There was something so sensual in the act that she was almost dizzy with excitement.

Finally he drew the finger from between her lips, and bending, kissed her slowly. "You will make me a most adorable wife, Aurora."

"I hate you!" she told him.

He laughed softly. "No, you do not, but if it pleases you to believe it, and soothes your conscience, you may think it."

"You assaulted me! My conscience is clear," she told him angrily. "I feel no guilt whatsoever for my actions."

He laughed again. "You are torn between knowing how much you enjoyed making love, and your guilt over St. John. Do not fear. I will explain all to him myself. He will dislike losing to me once again, but he will get over it, as he always does."

"You are heartless, Valerian. St. John loves me," Aurora said.

"Has he said so? The words, I mean," the duke inquired.

"Well…" She hesitated a moment, and then, "He said he feels for me what he has never felt for a woman before," she concluded triumphantly. "If it is not love, then what is it?"

"My cousin saw I was drawn to you, even though I had a wife. It gave him great pleasure to take you from me. To taunt me with the knowledge that he could have you when I could not. What a new and rare pleasure that must have been for him. Oh, he cared for you in his fashion. St. John is feckless, but not deliberately cruel, but love? No. I do not believe it. St. John has never given his heart to any woman. To give any part of himself to another would be to put him at a disadvantage, he believes. He will be angry and disappointed, but he will accept that you are mine, Aurora."

"Is everything a game between you two?" she wondered.

The duke considered a moment, and then said, "I have never thought of it that way before, but I suppose it is. I cannot tell you why, Aurora, but from our childhood St. John and I have rubbed each other the wrong way. He more than I, however, I believe." His fingers brushed her hair from her face. "I don't want to speak on my cousin any longer, Aurora. Have you any idea of how lovely you are? Your eyes are like the finest aquamarines, and your skin like silk. There is a necklace among the family jewels that would match your eyes. Although I realize it is no longer the fashion to wear such gems, they would be magnificent reflected by your eyes." He smiled wickedly. "Perhaps I shall dress your naked body with those pieces for my delectation, and mine alone." Leaning forward, he nibbled tenderly on her earlobe.

She caught her lower lip in her teeth. She ought to be absolutely embarrassed, and certainly ashamed of what had happened in the last hour, but she could not seem to muster up those emotions. She actually giggled to her acute horror as he teased at her ear. "Stop it!" she finally managed to say in what she hoped passed for a severe tone. "You are a fool, Valerian. Now, lend me a robe so I may gather up the shreds of my clothing that you have strewn all over the stairs and foyer. Then I will go to my room. I will not remain in this house another night. Since I will be unable to catch the public coach to Hereford, and then on to London, you must send me via your own transport. I shall return to St. Timothy upon the next available vessel." She pushed him away and attempted to sit up.

"I am going to have to lock you in your bedroom, aren't I?" he said wearily, pushing her back upon his bed. "You are going nowhere, my precious Aurora, except to St. Anne's Church, where you will marry me." He leaned over her, pinioning her beneath him again.

"No! No! No!" she insisted, pummeling his chest with her fists. "I will not marry you, Valerian! I won't!"

"Then I shall send a new man to St. Timothy to take George's place. He, Betsy, and your mother will be very grateful to you for being so selfish, Aurora. But then, you were being selfish when you deceived me with Calandra, weren't you? Think of what your self-centeredness has cost us all. Why do you persist in it?" His resolve almost evaporated when he saw her eyes fill with tears at the mention of her sister's name. "Ah, my precious, I am sorry," he amended his harshness, and he kissed her soft mouth lightly, once, twice, the third time his kiss deepening until their passions were well engaged once again.

She knew immediately what was happening between them, but she did not, she admitted to herself, want to stop it. Why am I fighting him, she wondered, but she knew. She wanted the decision to be hers and no one else's, yet he would insist upon attempting to master her. I will not be forced, she thought, but as he joined their bodies once again, she knew he was not coercing her. Tensing a moment as if there would be pain again, she was astounded to find he had told her the absolute truth. There wasn't any. Just an incredible feeling of fullness as his member thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew, until she was dizzy and breathless once more with the sudden and violent if temporary feeling of utter deliciousness their two bodies together seemed to engender.

"Damn you!" she gasped as she slid over the precipice.

When she finally awoke, she was to her utter amazement back in her own bed, her nightgown neatly tied at the neckline, the sun peeping through the draperies. Had she imagined it all? Was it a drug-induced dream brought on by Martha's tea? No. She had had no tea last night. She shifted herself beneath the coverlet, wincing at the sudden soreness between her thighs. It had been no dream! Valerian Hawkesworth had caught her running away, and he had… forced… seduced… made utterly incredible love to her! And he was going to make her marry him. Aurora burrowed down deeper beneath the bedding.

She had enjoyed it. Dear God, she had enjoyed it! It had been what she had been waiting for all her life. She had been totally and utterly wanton, practically encouraging his attentions. His lips had been so knowing against hers. His hands had touched her so tenderly, and she had let him. She hadn't really resisted him at all. He had called her his precious. He had said he loved her. And they had done it twice! She hadn't realized that you could do it twice in the same night. Damn him for a rogue! Would he tell anyone? Would others be able to tell by just looking at her what had transpired between Aurora Kimberly and Valerian Hawkesworth? She was going to die!

The door to her bedchamber opened slowly, and Martha entered the room. "Good morning, miss," she said brightly, and going to the window, she pulled the drapes. Then she put the painted screen about Aurora's bed. "The footmen is bringing the bath up now, miss. His grace has given orders that you're to be ready by eleven o'clock."

"Ready for what?" Aurora demanded, but Martha apparently didn't hear her mistress. Aurora could hear the footsteps of the servants lugging the tub into the room, setting it by the fire, pouring the buckets of hot water into the vessel. She smelled the honeysuckle and woodbine she favored permeating the air in the room. Martha bustled about, giving orders to unseen servants. Then it was quiet.

The screen was folded back. "Come along, miss, and hop out of your bed. I've got to do your hair too, and we've just got two hours."

"What is this all about, Martha," Aurora said as she climbed from the bed. "What is going on?"

"I don't know myself," the servant said honestly. "All I know is that the duke has ordered it, and told me what you're to wear, and that you're to be ready by eleven. He certainly ain't going to confide in a servant, miss. You'll have to ask him yourself." She whisked her mistress's nightgown off, laying it aside, helping the girl into her tub. If she noticed the dried blood on Aurora's thighs, she said nothing either by word or by look. Instead, she went to work washing the girl's brown-blond hair thoroughly, rinsing it, toweling it roughly, and wrapping a linen cloth about Aurora's head. "Now, don't dawdle, miss. We've got to dry your hair and style it properly, so wash quickly." She handed Aurora a sea sponge and a cloth along with a cake of soap.

Silently Aurora bathed herself, wondering as she did so what Valerian Hawkesworth was up to, and why no one else seemed to know. Stepping from the tub, she let Martha dry her and wrap her in a large towel. Then she sat by the fire while her servant brushed her hair until it was dry, and then rubbed it with a piece of silk until it was shining. The door opened, and both Sally and Molly entered, their arms filled.

Martha yanked the towel from her mistress, and then snatched a garment from atop the pile Molly carried, sliding it over Aurora's arms. It was a small corset, and Aurora normally did not wear one, but so stunned was she by what was going on, she did not protest as Martha laced up the little garment, just enough to give her shape, but not so tightly that she couldn't breathe. She had seen women in London overcome and unable to breathe, so tight were their stays. Her breasts, however, threatened to burst from the garment.

The three servants pulled the girl this way and that as they continued dressing her in silk stockings with tight rosette garters, a hooped petticoat support made of bent wood covered with a flannel petticoat, two linen petticoats, and two silk petticoats.

"Let me do her hair before we put on the gown," Martha said.

The two younger servants lifted the hoop so she might sit, and Martha took up her brush and began to style her mistress's hair. Today there were no flirtatious little curls on either side of Aurora's head. Instead, Martha fashioned an elegant chignon which she dressed with a strand of little seed pearls and silk flowers. She pinned and brushed, patted and stared until she was completely satisfied. When she was finished, she nodded to the other two, and the dress was brought.

Aurora stared hard. "It looks like a wedding gown," she said.

"It does," Martha agreed.

"I'm not putting it on," she told the servants mutinously.

"Now, miss, there's no good fussing at me. I'm just doing what the duke and the dowager told me to do. He can be a hard man, the master. If you don't get into this gown right now, and I've got to go and tell him so, the three of us could be dismissed. Now, here's a good girl, miss. Where would me and Sally go without references? You wouldn't do that to us after all our years of faithful service to the Kimberly family, would you?"

"Oh, put the damn thing on me, then," she grumbled as they lowered the cream-colored velvet trimmed in ermine over her. The neckline of the gown, despite its edging of fur, looked indecent to Aurora, for the corset made her breasts swell dangerously over its edge.

Molly knelt before her, slipping her shoes with their decorative rosettes onto Aurora's feet. Rising, she stepped back and said, "Oh, miss, don't you look grand!"

Sally stepped forward. "His grace asked that you wear these," she said, proffering a box at Aurora.

Opening the slightly tattered leather case, Aurora gasped. Lying within upon a bed of yellowed white silk was an incredible necklace unlike anything she had ever seen. Each stone was cut in the shape of a heart and set in a pinkish gold. From the center of the necklace a large pear-shaped pearl hung. It was the biggest pearl she had ever seen,

"Why, them stones is the exact color of your eyes, miss," Martha noted, taking the necklace up and fastening it about Aurora's neck.

Aurora stared into the mirror. The necklace sat flat upon her chest beneath her collarbone, the pearl dipping toward her cleavage. It was probably the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in all her life. Then she blushed, remembering his remarks the previous evening about the necklace. She couldn't imagine wearing such a jewel in public. It was so sensuous and decadent.

Martha set a deep blue velvet cape over Aurora's shoulders and handed her a pair of long, creamy kid gloves which the girl drew on slowly. "Come along now, miss. The clock is about to strike eleven."

Downstairs, Peters greeted her politely. "The carriage is waiting for you, miss. Martha is to ride with you." He handed the serving woman her cloak and ushered them outside, where the footmen waited to help them into the vehicle.

The coach moved off. Aurora did not need to ask where it was going. She would have been a fool not to know. When they reached their destination, it would be St. Anne's Church, and indeed it was. The grooms jumped down from the back of the carriage where they had been riding, and opening the door, pulled down the steps and helped the two passengers out. The dowager and Lady Elsie were awaiting them upon the stone porch of the church.

"I am pleased by this," the dowager told Aurora, "but shocked by the haste with which my grandson has effected this event."

"He has given me no choice in the matter," Aurora replied. "My sister is hardly in her grave, and he is forcing me to the altar. You know the deception of which I am guilty, ma'am. If I had wished to marry Valerian in the first place, I would have done so."

"Oh, my dear," twittered Lady Elsie, "Sir Ronald will not marry you if you are being coerced. It goes against Christian law."

"As the duke has taken my virtue from me already, and has threatened to dispossess George's family from St. Timothy, Lady Elsie, I believe I must acquiesce to Valerian Hawkesworth's demands. Besides, there is the little matter of my betrothal, is there not? It is all, I fear, quite legal. His grace has the law on his side."

Lady Bowen grew beet red with the bride's indelicate admission. "Quite," she managed to say. Heaven forfend that Betsy and her dear husband suffer the consequences of this outrageous chit's unruly behavior!

The dowager's blue eyes twinkled. "Would you be so kind," she said to Lady Bowen, "to tell Sir Ronald that we are ready, m'dear?" And when the good woman had bustled into the church, she turned to Aurora, saying, "Do not let him bully you further, my child. By marrying him you right the wrong you previously committed against him. All debts are now paid in full, especially given your revelation of a moment ago. I will ask nothing, you understand," she murmured with a smile. "You look none the worse for wear. If he is like the rest of the men in the family, he is a vigorous lover. Now, let us get this business over and done with, Aurora Kimberly, so we can get on with our lives. And remember, I will be your ally in most cases. Men are charming, and an absolute necessity, but they are not always particularly intelligent." She then linked an arm in Aurora's and led her into the church.

Inside, an altar boy hurried forward to remove her cloak and hand the bride a small nosegay of white rosebuds tied with gold ribbons. She accepted them, smiling at the child, and then continued on with the dowager to the altar, Martha following them.

The church looked very much as it had a few days before, when George and Betsy had been married. Lace-trimmed white linen bedecked the altar with its gold candelabra burning beeswax candles. The duke awaited her dressed in cream-colored breeches, a flowered waistcoat, and a fawn-colored coat with silver buttons. Lace dripped from his sleeves and from the neckline of his fine cambric shirt. He was wearing a wig the dark color of his own hair, a small queue tied with a ribbon at the back of his neck.

Sir Ronald, however, did not look very happy with the part he was about to play. The duke had appeared in his home at ten o'clock that morning and presented him with a special license he had obtained from the local magistrate at the crack of dawn. He explained briefly the deception that had been played upon him, and said the whole matter would be corrected by his immediate marriage to Aurora Kimberly. When the minister had protested the unseemly haste and the scandal it would cause, the duke had shrugged. Then he had suggested that if Sir Ronald did not perform the ceremony, his eldest daughter's life could be changed for the worse. The cleric was outraged. He had never before imagined Valerian Hawkesworth capable of such harshness toward others, but he realized he had no choice in the matter.

The bride came quietly forward with the dowager and her servant, who would, along with Lady Elsie, act as witnesses. Sir Ronald then performed the ceremony that united Valerian Hawkesworth to Aurora Kimberly. When it was over, and the duke had kissed his bride, Sir Ronald softened his stance. It was, after all, not the bride's fault that her new husband was such a hothead, and he had, despite the unseemly haste, only righted a wrong, and they were, after all, family now. He shook the duke's hand and offered his genuine congratulations.

"There will be no further celebration," the duke said, "for we are in mourning for my wife's sister." Then with a smile in Lady Elsie's direction he escorted his bride from the church to the coach.

"You may not gossip about this until Sunday," the dowager told Lady Elsie sternly. "Not even to your girls. Especially not to your girls or your servants. St. John must be told first, you understand."

"Yes, your g-grace" came the nervous reply.

"If I hear so much as a whisper, I shall know where it came from, m'dear, and then I shall not introduce your Isabelle to that nice young baronet I have in mind for her. Such a handsome man, and two thousand a year plus a manor house and a hundred acres." She smiled toothily at Lady Bowen. "Good day, m'dear." Then she hurried off to get into the coach.

They returned to Hawkes Hill, Martha wiping her eyes all the way. The dowager sat with a pleased smile upon her face. Aurora and Valerian were silent for a time, and then he spoke.

"I have asked St. John to come after lunch," he said.

"I would be there," she answered.

"I do not think it wise," he replied.

"Nonetheless I will be there, else he obtain some foolish idea about this matter," Aurora responded firmly. "Please understand, Valerian, that you may be my husband now, but you are not my master. I will not be treated like a child, nor will I be dictated to by you. You wanted me, and so you must accept me for what I am. St. John is entitled to face both of us under the circumstances, and he will."

Mary Rose Hawkesworth could not help herself. She burst out laughing at the surprised look upon her grandson's face. "Well, my boy," she chortled, "you wanted her, you took her, and now you have gotten exactly what you deserved. Oh, my dears, I could not be happier! You are a perfect match!"

And Martha, in her corner next to the dowager, chuckled right along with the old lady.

^{Chapter 12}

The ducal coach drew up before Hawkes Hill and the servants hurried to help its occupants out and escort them into the house. There, the entire household staff was lined up in the foyer.

"The staff wishes to offer you and her grace their congratulations, my lord," Peters said solemnly.

"God bless the duke and duchess," the servants dutifully chorused, and then they exited the foyer to return to their duties.

"Please convey to the staff our thanks, Peters," the duke said. "Is the luncheon ready? We will be expecting Mr. St. John about two this afternoon. Will you see he is shown into the main drawing room?"

"Of course, my lord," the butler replied. "Luncheon is served."

A footman came forward to take the ladies' cloaks. Martha had already gone upstairs to fill Sally and Molly in on the wedding.

"If it please your grace," Peters said as they entered the dining room, "I have had the table set en famille with her grace on your right and Lady Mary Rose on your left hand."

They were seated, the duke at the head of the long, mahogany table, the ladies on either side of him. The places were set upon heavy linen mats with beautiful silver and fine crystal. The service plates were snow white with a wide gold band edging them. Soup plates were brought, and the hot clear consommé served, a thin, round wedge of lemon floated upon the surface of the soup. Aurora lay her nosegay upon the table to her right, noting that the flowers upon the table matched them.

"What a lovely day for a wedding!" the dowager said, attempting to break the ice and bring a sense of normalcy to their gathering.

"I had not noticed," Aurora said. The soup was wonderful, and took the chill from her extremities. A footman poured wine into her goblet, and she sipped it for contrast.

"It's unusual for us to have so bright and sunny a day in November, and not a cloud in the sky," the dowager continued.

"I don't even know what day it is," Aurora replied, sipping a bit more wine as she finished up her soup.

"Why it is the fourth of November, my dear," the dowager said. "Certainly you will always want to remember this date."

Aurora couldn't resist a small chuckle. "Certainly the entire county will remember it, so I may have no need to, for there will be plenty of people to remind me. It will be recalled as the day that dreadful Duke of Farminster married his second wife, and his first not even cold in her grave a week! And, of course, the duchess is no better than she ought to be, y'know. Tossed over that fine Mr. St. John for a title, she did, the ambitious jade!" She looked directly at her husband as she spoke, her manner mocking and bold.

But the duke was not in the least intimidated. He equaled her rhetoric with a bit of his own. "And, my precious, should you deliver a child in less than ten months' time, nay, a year, I think, we will be accused of carrying on a passionate affair even while poor Calandra yet lived. I believe I should like that, wouldn't you?"

"Valerian!" his grandmother said. "You go too far."

"Do I, my precious?" he demanded of Aurora.

"Perhaps," she considered, and turned her attention to the meaty prawns that had been placed upon her fresh plate. They had been broiled in lemon butter and wine, and served upon a small patch of cress.

"The aquamarines suit you," he said softly, pleased to see her cheeks grow pink.

The trio now turned their full attention to the meal at hand. The fish course was followed by beef with small roasted potatoes, turnip, peas, a fat capon, a marrow pudding, and bread and butter. Aurora ate with her customary good appetite. When the plates had been cleared away, Peters brought a small bride's cake iced in white and topped with a fully blown white rose. He set it before Aurora and handed her a silver cake knife. "Will your grace do the honors?" he asked.

"Now, how on earth did Cook manage that?" the dowager said.

"A small, uncut fruitcake was found in the pantry, your ladyship," the butler replied. "It was quite fortunate, as it is the last of Cook's supply, and time to make them again for the year."

"Please thank Cook," Aurora said, "and tell her the meal was superb, especially given the short notice."

"I shall tell her, your grace," Peters replied. Now, this was a duchess. Not like the other lady, who never had a kind word for any of them, or ever said thank-you. And it had not been just his disapproving notice. His granddaughter, Molly, had had much to say to him on her late mistress. Moving sedately about the table, he poured champagne into the glasses provided.

The dowager raised her glass to her grandson and his bride. "To you both," she said. "Long life, happiness, and healthy children."

They drank, and then Valerian Hawkesworth raised his glass to Aurora. "To you, my precious, and to the truth, which you will always tell me from now on," he said, a twinkle in his eye.

"Perhaps," Aurora said, and then she lifted her glass, saying, "To Calandra."

The others raised their glasses solemnly, repeating, "To Calandra."

Aurora cut the cake, giving them all small slices of the dark, rich fruitcake. When they had finally finished, the dowager excused herself, claiming fatigue, but Aurora knew she did not wish to be there when St. John came to call. The clock in the foyer struck two o'clock as she and her husband entered the drawing room. Peters was already hurrying to open the front door, for St. John was always punctual. Aurora settled herself on a settee, her skirts spread about her.

"You look perfect, and are the most beautiful woman I have ever known," the duke said. Then he continued. "St. John will be quite piqued, I fear." He chuckled wickedly.

"If I did not wish to muss my attire," Aurora told him, "I should smack you, Valerian! If you expect St. John to act like a grown man, then you must stop behaving like a childish boy!"

He laughed even as the double doors to the drawing room were opened, and Peters announced, "Mr. St. John, my lord." Then, closing the doors behind the duke's guest, Peters left them.

Justin St. John's eyes went immediately to Aurora. They took in her attire, lingering a moment upon the necklace she wore. He was no fool. "Have you married her, then, Hawkesworth?"

The duke nodded.

"You bastard!" St. John replied, and turned angrily to go.

"Wait!" the duke called to him.

St. John turned. "Why? What more is there to say about it?"

"She is the heiress to St. Timothy, not Calandra," Valerian told his cousin, and then he went on to explain the deception that had been enacted, and how Dr. Carstairs, coming in place of Dr. Michaels, had revealed the truth to the duke after Calandra's unfortunate demise.

"Well, I'll be damned!" St. John chortled, his mood suddenly lightened. "So Aurora was your betrothed, and not Calandra. And if you had not learned of it, and I eventually had, then I should have been able to lay claim upon St. Timothy! Well played, cousin!"

Aurora stared at the two men, now embracing and clapping. "Well played?" She arose from the settee where she had been seated. "Damn you, St. John! Did you not love me? You said you felt for me what you had never felt for another woman!"

The two men turned to look at her, astounded. Only the duke really understood his bride's outrage. He grinned, and waited to see what she would do next. Poor St. John! He had no idea of how a woman who believed herself betrayed could behave.

"Why, my dear," St. John said, "I did not lie to you. I did feel for you what I had not ever felt for another woman, but that was because you were not like any other woman I had ever met. Each girl is different, and so, of course, I feel differently for each of them."

"So you did not really love me," she responded.

"I loved you in my fashion," he told her weakly.

"St. John, you are a seducer and a fool! I do not know which is worse," Aurora replied. "Why on earth were you prepared to marry me, then? To confound Valerian?"

"In part, yes," he admitted. "Could you not see how badly he wanted you, Aurora? And he could not have you! It was too delicious a situation to resist. The dowager saw a scandal in the making, and was very much on my side, and besides, it was time for me to start my nursery. My mother will be quite disappointed, for she desires grandchildren."

Aurora's fingers had wrapped themselves about a small vase upon the table next to the settee as he spoke. Now, as he finished with a small, apologetic smile, she grasped the vase and threw it at him with all the force she could muster. Surprise exploded upon his face as he ducked, but the vase slightly creased the side of his head before crashing to the floor and breaking into several pieces. The duke burst out laughing, then leapt across the space that separated him from his wife, who had obtained a second missile and was prepared to launch it.

"Now, my precious," he murmured at her soothingly, "you must not be rude to poor St. John. He has answered your questions as honestly as he knows how. Come, Aurora, and let us all make peace." He yanked a china figurine from her fingers and put a restraining arm about her.

Aurora stamped down upon his foot with all her might, and as he yelped in pain, she pulled away from him. "You may, the pair of you, go to hell!" she said, and then stalked from the drawing room.

"Spirited gel," St. John noted. "Perhaps you have done me a favor, cousin, by taking her off my hands. I don't think I could manage such a fierce firebrand, although I will admit," he confided wickedly, "that she kisses like an angel and has marvelous little tits."

"Do not honor me with your confidences regarding the lady who is now my wife, cousin. I might be forced to call you out, St. John," the duke told him pleasantly, but there was an undertone of menace in his voice. "Come, and let us have a whiskey before you ride home to break the news to your mother."

"Well," St. John responded sulkily, "I did leave her virtue intact, Hawkesworth. You might at least thank me for that. After all, we were to be married, and no one could have faulted me for breeching her." He accepted the cut-glass tumbler the duke handed him and sniffed at it appreciatively.

The duke laughed. "Very well, St. John, I thank you for leaving my betrothed wife's virginity for me to dispose of last night."

St. John laughed back. "Why, you devil! You were taking no chances, were you? I do believe that I am flattered, Hawkesworth." He raised his glass to the duke. "To her grace," he said.

Valerian Hawkesworth acknowledged his cousin's salute and lifted his own tumbler. "To her grace," he said, "and to you also, St. John. You are certainly the most gentlemanly cad I have ever known, even if we are related by blood."

The two cousins drank their whiskey in companionable silence for a few minutes, and then St. John said, "Who the hell am I going to find to marry, Hawkesworth? Mama is going to be furious, and there will be hell to pay. What about that tempting little Isabelle Bowen?"

"My grandmother has her marked for some baronet, but of course she has not introduced the two yet. I see no reason why you shouldn't make an attempt. Pretty wench. Modest dower, but the Bowens are quite respectable and a very old family. She would be most suitable, and she's innocent enough to be bowled over by your unctuous charms, St. John. Your mother would be quite pleased if you could pull it off. Best to catch Miss Bowen before she grows much older and discovers what a rogue you really are, cousin," he finished with a chuckle.

"I shall play the heartbroken lover," St. John said thoughtfully. "Young girls always adore comforting a man whose heart has been hurt by some other vixen. You don't mind if I suggest Aurora is a villainess, do you, Hawkesworth? Not a wicked one, of course, hut a wee bit of a one. Tampered with my affections knowing all along how she had deceived you and was now deceiving me." His look was that of a saddened lover.

The duke burst out laughing. "Be heartbroken if you will, St. John, but do not make my wife out a villainess. The truth will serve you quite nicely. You must be generous in your crushing grief. It will play better, I suspect. Also, you will have to turn your talents to overcoming any objections that the Bowens have regarding your suitability as a son-in-law. Win Isabelle over first, however. Sir Ronald will not like losing a title for his daughter. I will assuage my grandmother's disappointment by reminding her that the next Bowen chit will be marriageable in just three or four more years. If the baronet is loath to settle down, a few more years should not matter to him."

"Why on earth would the Bowens object to me?" St. John asked. "I am young, healthy, extremely handsome, and rich. What more could they possibly want in a son-in-law, Hawkesworth?"

"My dear St. John," his cousin answered him, "you are indeed all those things, but you are also an undeniable rascal. You have broken any number of hearts, and if rumor is to be believed, you have at least two bastards to your credit."

"Three," St. John murmured, unabashed. "The daughter of the innkeeper at the Three Swans has recently presented me with a girl child. I do acknowledge the little ones, and pay their mothers a generous yearly stipend as well as seeing to their baptisms."

Hawkesworth laughed all the harder. "I am certain that Sir Ronald and Lady Elsie will be most impressed by your Christian charity. We get ahead of ourselves, however. First you must entice Miss Isabelle Bowen in your web of love. Once you have done that, the battle is half won."

"And if not, I shall have to go to London to see if I can find some sweet little debutante whose down-on-her-heels but utterly old family will not blink at my reputation, so blinded are they by my fortune and lands." Putting his tumbler down, he grinned at the duke. "I wish you more happiness this time, Hawkesworth, than you had with your last marriage. For all our rivalry, we are family and best friends."

The two men shook hands, embraced, and then the duke walked with his cousin out into the afternoon, where one of the grooms stood waiting with St. John's horse. Mounting the beast, St. John gave the duke a wave, and then rode off in the direction of Primrose Court. Hawkesworth watched him for a few minutes and then returned to the house. It was time that he and his wife began getting seriously acquainted.

Peters greeted him, saying, "Her grace will not allow us to move her things into the duchess's rooms, my lord."

"Nor should you, Peters. At least not until the rooms have been totally redecorated. You can understand that my wife would not want to sleep in the place where her sister has so recently died. Tell her servants to leave her grace's possessions where they are. I will discuss the refurbishing with my wife shortly."

"Of course, my lord," the butler said. "It was thoughtless of us to have attempted to move her grace under the circumstances."

The duke hurried up the stairs to Aurora's room, but she was not there. He went to his grandmother's room, where the dowager was sleeping. Where the hell could Aurora have gone to, he wondered as he entered his own bedchamber. Then he gaped in shock. She lay curled upon a hip in the center of his bed, resting her body upon an arm and an elbow, her heart-shaped face supported in the palm of her hand. She was stark naked but for the necklace of aquamarines about her neck. A fire crackled in the fireplace, the light of the flames mingling with the light from the setting sun.

"I have decided to forgive you, Valerian," she said, breaking the silence between them. "You were absolutely right about St. John. He is a scoundrel." She shifted her legs just slightly, allowing him a fine view of the thick thatch of tight brown-gold curls between her thighs. Then she ran the tip of her tongue along the top of her lip.

"How in God's name did you manage to preserve your virginity so long?" he demanded of her. He shrugged off his coat, and, unbuttoning his waistcoat, lay the two garments upon a chair. Moving back to the bedroom door as he undid his cambric shirt, he turned the lock, and spinning about, yanked off the shirt, saying, "I shall need your help with my boots, Aurora. Come here," he commanded, and watched with pleasure as she slid off the bed and walked toward him.

"What shall I do, my lord?" she murmured.

Seating himself in a chair, he said, "Straddle one of my legs, and then pull the boot off, my precious." Then he grinned, delighted at the sight of her pretty bottom. It was as round as a peach, and when she grasped his right boot and began to pull, he was unable to resist placing his left foot upon her and pushing gently.

"Ooofff!" she grunted as the first boot slid off, and she set it aside, bestriding his other leg and drawing off the second boot.

He peeled his stockings off, and when he stood again, she began to undo his breeches. Shaking his head, he said, "If I had not sprung you myself, I should be in serious doubt as to your chastity."

"Don't you want to make love to me?" she said softly.

"Yes, I do," he admitted as she pulled the breeches over his hips, leaving him to finish the job, and slipped his drawers down to complete her task. "Tell me, did St. John light this fire in you?"

Aurora shook her head. "Since my childhood 1 have known how to pleasure myself," she told him. "I am wise enough to have known that I must keep this part of my nature secret, and not be called wanton, or shame my family, but the hunger was always there. Last night you were able to satisfy that hunger. I want you to do it again!" She pressed her naked body against his, slipping her arms about his neck. "Do I shock you? Calandra, I know, was my opposite. She told me she did not like the act. I do, Valerian. I like it very much. Can we do it twice again? I was so surprised that you could do it twice in one night!"

He wanted to laugh. She was wonderful! Ingenuous, innocent, and knowing all in the same moment. She was a gift after his marriage to her coldhearted sister. "This passion of yours," he said softly, his arms wrapping about her, "must be reserved for me, my precious. You do understand that, do you not?"

She nodded, and then her hand slipped down to push between them and grasp his member. "It is so hard," she noted, and then loosed her grip upon him and began to caress it. "Do you like that as much as I like it when you stroke my breasts? You do not mind if I ask you such questions, do you? I want to please you as you have pleased me."

"Yes," he said slowly, "I like it when you touch me. There are other ways you can give my member pleasure besides petting it, but if you are fearful, or repulsed, I will understand."

"How?" Her tone was filled with curiosity.

"Kneel before me," he said softly.

"What?" Her voice was surprised.

"Kneel before me," he said, and when she complied with his request he took his manhood in his hand and rubbed it gently across her lips. "You can use your tongue on it, or suck on it," he told her.

Aurora's heart was beating wildly. There was something so exciting about the forbidden, and this was certainly a forbidden thing. She touched him with just the tip of her tongue. He said nothing. Emboldened, she licked vigorously about the ruby tip of him, and when he removed his hand she bent her head slightly and licked the length of him several times. Then, unable to help herself, she opened her mouth and took him into it, her tongue working fiercely as her own excitement level rose with each passing second. He was warm and hard, and smooth. The taste of him was musky and salty. She sucked on him, and felt his fingers kneading her head, encouraging her, and then he grated at her to cease, and when she could not seem to stop, he pulled her away, yanking her up to face him once again.

"Would you swallow me whole, my precious?" he demanded.

"Yes!" she said, her eyes bright with her desire.

He laughed, amazed at her capacity for lust. "Turnabout is but fair play, Aurora," he told her. "Let me show you." Taking her by the hand, he drew her over to the bed, sitting her down so that her legs were hanging over. "Lay back," he said, and when she had, he knelt and slowly drew her legs down and over his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" she cried out nervously.

He did not answer her, instead burying his face in the soft nest of curls and kissing her plump, warm mound. She did not protest, instead sighing with obvious pleasure. He then parted her nether lips with his two thumbs and touched her little pleasure button with just the tip of his tongue. He heard her draw a sharp breath, and smiled to himself. With his whole tongue he slowly licked the coral walls of her love grotto, pushing his tongue into her channel, withdrawing it to return to her pleasure button, which he then began to sweetly torture.

Aurora could not restrain herself, and she moaned with open enjoyment. "Ohhhh, Valerian, that is absolutely wicked. Don't stop. I beg you! Please, don't stop! I shall die of delight! Oh! Oh! Oh!"

Her love juices began to flow, and he lapped them up eagerly. "So you like it, you little wanton," he growled at her, and then he was mounting her and pushing himself into her. "Do you like this too, my precious?" He thrust hard, and she half sobbed, "Yes!" and hearing her, he began a fierce rhythm, thrusting and withdrawing, thrusting and withdrawing, until her head was thrashing wildly. "Put your legs about me," he said in a deep tone, and when she obeyed he was able to push deeper into her hot, wet sheath.

She could feel him inside her, throbbing and pulsing. He was such a fierce but tender lover, and she wanted him to go on forever. "Don't stop," she begged him. "Don't stop!" Her nails began to rake down his back as the pleasure overtook her. He groaned against her mouth, his tongue, ripe with her musk, arousing her as she had never before been aroused. Her body had joined him in the primitive passion, pushing up to meet his downward thrust. Her legs were wrapped tightly about his torso. I am going to die, she thought as she felt herself beginning to soar and spin out of control. Stars and moons were exploding in her head, and the pleasure was tearing her apart. She cried aloud.

He didn't want to stop. She was the most exciting woman he had ever known. He desired her above all women. He wanted her so badly that even in the act of possessing her his loins yet ached with longing. He was on the brink of death, and he didn't care. It was worth it. It had all been worth it just to possess that incredible creature who was his wife. He was falling into darkest space, and yet he could feel his manhood erupting its juices to flood her secret garden with life. He collapsed.

Together they lay gasping, struggling for breath, and when at last they had managed to quiet their raging hearts, Valerian Hawkesworth gathered Aurora into his arms, weakly drew the coverlet over them, and they slept.

They were awakened by a discreet knocking at the door, and heard Browne's voice calling. "My lord. My lord."

"Yes, what is it?" the duke asked sleepily.

"It is after nine o'clock, my lord. Will you and her ladyship be wanting supper before the staff retires?" the valet said.

"Bring a tray, whatever is available, and champagne too," Valerian Hawkesworth responded. "You may leave it outside the door, Browne. Just knock to let us know it's there."

"Yes, my lord." They heard the retreating footsteps.

"Do you think the servants are shocked?" Aurora wondered.

"Probably not," he said. "Why should they be? It is our wedding night, after all, and you, my dear duchess, are absolutely delicious!" He kissed her a deep, slow kiss. "I think we might manage it more than twice tonight, my precious. Would you like that?"

She grinned at him mischievously. "I believe that you are utterly insatiable, my lord," she teased.

"As are you, madam," he agreed calmly, and bending, nibbled at her ear. "You must be satisfied with me, however, Aurora. I will not countenance your taking lovers, as do so many fashionable women."

"Good God, Valerian, what do you take me for? Why on earth would I want a lover? I was not raised to be loose. A woman cleaves to her husband, unless, of course, he turns out to be an utter cad, in which case she poisons him quickly and becomes a merry widow," she finished with a wicked smile. Then she took his hand, and separating his fingers, began to suck them slowly, one by one. Her tongue rotated in leisurely fashion about each digit, and then she would draw upon the finger so strongly that he thought she might devour it.

"Fashionable women," he murmured, bending to nuzzle in the cleft between her two round little breasts, "take and discard lovers with little thought, as do their husbands. Had Calandra not been so coldhearted, I believe she would have followed the fashion quite willingly."

"I am not my sister, as you have already discovered," Aurora said, "and I have no need for another man in my bed as long as you are so attentive. You had best not take a mistress, my lord. Besides, if I never see London again, it will be too soon. I love living at Hawkes Hill, and I shall be most happy to remain here for the rest of my life." Finished playing with his fingers, she nipped at his knuckles.

With startling swiftness he pinioned her beneath him and kissed her until she was quite breathless and laughing. "Wanton witch," he accused her, but he was smiling.

She felt him already roused against her thigh, and said, "You are impatient, Valerian. I did not expect such passion from you."

"I cannot wait, my precious," he apologized, pushing himself into her wet, hot sheath. "Will you forgive me?" He began to move on her.

"Ummmmmmm," she replied, and she wrapped her legs about his torso once again. "Make me fly again, Valerian, and I will excuse this unseemly haste and your lack of finesse. Oh! Oh! Yessssss!"

"Little bitch," he groaned against her mouth. "I cannot get enough of you, I cannot!"

He was a sorcerer, she thought as she began to lose control of herself once more. His touch inflamed. His hard body excited her more than anything else she had ever known. Take a lover? Dear heaven, what other man could please her so greatly? Could reach so deeply into her heart and soul that she was overwhelmed with a plethora of emotions she hardly understood, and which threatened to overwhelm her. She would never take a lover. Husbands could be such fools, she considered as she soared from the pinnacle once more. "Ahhhhhhhh, my darling!" she cried.

He lay atop her, drained and gasping for breath. Her sweetness and her intense passion would certainly be the death of him. The elusive fragrance that was Aurora assailed him, and he sighed with pleasure. Mistress, indeed! She had, in a day's time, spoiled him for all other women forever. She shifted beneath him, and immediately he rolled off her. "I think I may kill you," he said low, "for all the time you cost us with your stubborn nature, my precious." He took her hand and squeezed it hard. "I think I fell in love with you the day I saw you coming from the sea, but I put it from me. Then, when you arrived in England, I was tortured by the thought you would wed another and I could not have you. And when you chose St. John, I wanted to kill him!"

"Hush, Valerian." She leaned over him, stopping his mouth with her own for a moment. Then she continued. "I can never forget that my selfishness caused Cally great unhappiness, and cost her her life. I must live with that the rest of my life even as I experience the joy of loving you. It seems so unfair that I should be happy and poor Cally will never know happiness."

"Then you love me as I love you?" he said, his voice breaking.

"Of course I love you, you fool," she replied. "When I would daydream, it was your face I saw, and never St. John's. I did not understand it until now, but I realize that I was in love with you although I could not admit it for fear of being disloyal to my sister. After all, it was not right that I love Cally's husband, Valerian, but I may certainly love my own husband, may I not?"

There was a discreet knock upon the bedchamber door, and Browne's voice said softly but distinctly, "Supper is served, your grace." Then they heard him retreating down the hallway.

"Are you hungry?" he asked her. She loved him!

"Ravenous, my lord," she assured him, her look smoldering, and then she amended, "for food also, my darling!"

Laughing, he arose and crossed the room to open the door and bring in an enormous tray which he placed upon a large rectangular table set against one of the paneled walls. He tossed two more logs upon the fire, coaxing the flames higher. Then he took the bedside taperstick and used it to light several other candles upon the table and about the bedroom. "What shall I bring you?" he asked her.

"What is there?" she responded.

Removing the silver domes covering the dishes, he said, "Raw oysters, capon, cold asparagus from the greenhouse, bread, cheese, butter, and fruit. And champagne."

"Everything!" she told him eagerly.

He filled her plate and brought it to her. She had plumped up the pillows and drawn the coverlet up modestly over her breasts. Taking the plate from him, she began to eat with great gusto, swallowing down six raw oysters and then attacking a piece of capon breast. Joining her with his own full plate, he found himself being aroused as she ate her asparagus, sucking the vinaigrette from her fingers, licking her mouth with her facile tongue. He averted his eyes and concentrated upon the consumption of a dozen oysters. He was obviously going to need their restorative powers.

"We have no champagne!" she cried, and putting her plate aside on the coverlet climbed from the bed and padded across the room to pour them two crystal gobletsful. She brought him his, bending first to dip a nipple into the sparkling wine, and then offering it to him mischievously. "Is it to your grace's taste?" she inquired innocently.

"It will do," he replied, licking her nipple with a grin and taking the goblet from her.

She climbed back into their bed with her own narrow crystal, sipping it decorously. "Delicious," she pronounced. "Do do you think we could dip your…"

"No!" he said, and he began to laugh again.

"Why not?" she demanded. "Have you done it before?"

He shook his head. "It is not advisable, Aurora. You know what will happen if we begin such love play, and then there will be champagne and oyster shells all over the bedclothes."

"Oh, very well, Valerian, but one day when we are not so encumbered we must try it. Perhaps I shall bathe in a tub full of champagne, and you may lick me dry," she tempted him.

"How can a girl who was a virgin until a day ago have such lascivious and libertine thoughts?" he demanded of her.

"Are women not supposed to think of it?" she asked him. "Even after they are wed? That is not fair! Certainly men think on it, and for that matter, men get to do it without any criticism before they are married, and ofttimes after with other women."

"But we will not do it," he said, "with anyone other than each other, Aurora." Rising from the bed, he took their plates and then brought her a wet cloth with which he wiped her face and hands before doing his own. "Would you like some dessert? Cook has sent up some lovely grapes, and little meringues."

"Bring the champagne, and we shall make our own dessert." Aurora told him. "I have a great many more licentious and salacious thoughts to share with you, my husband. Perhaps I shall even convince you to act upon them, or perhaps I shall act upon them," she teased him.

"You have it in your head to kill me,"he said. "Don't you?"

Aurora chuckled. "Only with love, Valerian, and only if you promise to slay me with your love too."

Shaking his head, he refilled her crystal goblet and his own. Then he joined her in their bed, the burning look in his dark blue eyes matching the passion in her aquamarine-blue ones.