Brenda Joyce
scandalous love
Clayborough, 1874
Loud, excited voices, happy laughter, and the solemn sounds of a string quartet resounded in the hall full of guests. All this cheerful noise reached the room, which was two floors above. There, in his bedroom, a little boy lay on a huge bed and listened to what was happening in the house. And although he was only four years old, he did not light the lamp that stood nearby. The caring nanny left the door slightly ajar, and the light from the old lamp in the corridor was enough for him. The flickering flames created silhouettes of bizarre animals and monsters on the bedroom wall, and sometimes the boy's imagination turned these creatures into people. They were women glittering with jewels and men in black tailcoats. It seemed to him that he was with them, as mature, as strong and solid as the lords, as majestic and courageous as the duke, his father. No, stronger, nobler and more courageous than his father.
The boy smiled, for a moment really feeling like an adult. But suddenly he heard them. The smile faded from his face as he sat up abruptly on the bed, trembling with excitement. They were in the corridor, next to the door to his room. His mother - her voice is soft and pleasant - spoke almost in a whisper:
I didn't expect you to come back. Let me help you.
And his father:
You seem to want to send me to bed as soon as possible.
What's the matter, Isabelle? Francis Braxton-Lowell asked sharply. - Did I upset you? Or were you afraid that I would go out to the guests and talk to them? Looks like I'm not very happy to be here.
Of course not, - calmly answered the mother.
The boy suppressed the urge to stay in bed. He quietly slid off her, made his way to the half-open door, and peered out into the corridor.
The Duke, tall, handsome, blond, unshaven, in rumpled and dirty clothes, could hardly contain his irritation. He turned sharply, nearly losing his balance, and staggered down the corridor. The Duchess, a fair-haired, strikingly beautiful and elegant woman in a pale blue dress adorned with jewels, who seemed perfect to the boy, lowered her head sadly and followed her husband.
The boy kept a close eye on them. The duke paused at the door of his room.
I don't need your help, he snapped.
Will you come down?
Are you afraid that I will embarrass you?
Of course not.
You know how to lie. Why didn't you invite me over, Isabelle?
The mother stood with her back to her son, and he did not see her face, but her voice no longer sounded as calm as before:
If you want to come down to us, why don't you clean yourself up first?
I guess I'll go down, - he answered sharply. His eyes fell on the necklace that glittered on her chest.
I recently ordered it.
Devilry! It doesn't look like glass at all!
Isabelle was silent. In the ensuing silence, his father's rapid breathing could be heard. The boy crept closer and hid behind a lacquered lectern where daily prayers were held. The Duke's eyes were ready to pop out of their sockets. Horror seized the child. Suddenly the duke tore the jewels from his mother's neck. Nearly choking, Isabelle stifled a scream. The boy rushed forward.
It's real! .. - the duke shouted. - My God, these are real diamonds! You… lying creature! You've been hiding money from me all this time, haven't you?
The Duchess stood frozen.
Yes? Where did you get the money for this? Where the hell are you!
First you rent out my land without my knowledge, and now you hide my money? the duke shouted angrily. "And you won't stop there, will you?"
How else can I save your fortune?
With surprising agility for a drunk, the duke approached his wife and with a strong blow to the face threw her against the wall.
You have always been a fraud, Isabelle, from day one of our lives. Fraudster and liar. Staggering, he was about to hit her again.
Stop it! the boy shouted, clasping his father's legs. - Don't hit her, don't hit her!
Damn you both! Francis yelled, and yet he struck his wife a second blow, which knocked her to the floor.
Brenda Joyce
scandalous love
Clayborough, 1874
Loud, excited voices, happy laughter, and the solemn sounds of a string quartet resounded in the hall full of guests. All this cheerful noise reached the room, which was two floors above. There, in his bedroom, a little boy lay on a huge bed and listened to what was happening in the house. And although he was only four years old, he did not light the lamp that stood nearby. The caring nanny left the door slightly ajar, and the light from the old lamp in the corridor was enough for him. The flickering flames created silhouettes of bizarre animals and monsters on the bedroom wall, and sometimes the boy's imagination turned these creatures into people. They were women glittering with jewels and men in black tailcoats. It seemed to him that he was with them, as mature, as strong and solid as the lords, as majestic and courageous as the duke, his father. No, stronger, nobler and more courageous than his father.
The boy smiled, for a moment really feeling like an adult. But suddenly he heard them. The smile faded from his face as he sat up abruptly on the bed, trembling with excitement. They were in the corridor, next to the door to his room. His mother - her voice is soft and pleasant - spoke almost in a whisper:
I didn't expect you to come back. Let me help you.
And his father:
“You seem to really want to send me to bed as soon as possible.
“Of course not,” the mother replied calmly.
The boy suppressed the urge to stay in bed. He quietly slid off her, made his way to the half-open door, and peered out into the corridor.
The Duke, tall, handsome, blond, unshaven, in rumpled and dirty clothes, could hardly contain his irritation. He turned sharply, nearly losing his balance, and staggered down the corridor. The Duchess, a fair-haired, strikingly beautiful and elegant woman in a pale blue dress adorned with jewels, who seemed perfect to the boy, lowered her head sadly and followed her husband.
The boy kept a close eye on them. The duke paused at the door of his room.
"I don't need your help," he snapped.
- Are you going downstairs?
“Are you afraid that I will embarrass you?”
- Of course not.
- You know how to lie. Why didn't you invite me over, Isabelle?
The mother stood with her back to her son, and he did not see her face, but her voice no longer sounded as calm as before:
“If you want to come down to us, then why don’t you first clean yourself up?”
“Maybe I’ll go down,” he said sharply. His eyes fell on the necklace that glittered on her chest.
I recently ordered it.
- Devilishness! It doesn't look like glass at all!
Isabelle was silent. In the ensuing silence, his father's rapid breathing could be heard. The boy crept closer and hid behind a lacquered lectern where daily prayers were held. The Duke's eyes were ready to pop out of their sockets. Horror seized the child. Suddenly the duke tore the jewels from his mother's neck. Nearly choking, Isabelle stifled a scream. The boy rushed forward.
“It’s real!” the duke shouted. “My God, these are real diamonds!” You… lying creature! You've been hiding money from me all this time, haven't you?
The Duchess stood frozen.
- Yes? Where did you get the money for this? Where the hell are you!
– First you rent my land without my knowledge, and now you hide my money? the duke shouted angrily. "And you won't stop there, will you?"
“How else can I save your fortune?”
With surprising agility for a drunk, the duke approached his wife and with a strong blow to the face threw her against the wall.
“You have always been a fraud, Isabelle, from day one of our lives. Fraudster and liar. Staggering, he was about to hit her again.
- Stop it! the boy shouted, clasping his father's legs. Don't hit her, don't hit her!
“Damn you both! Francis yelled, and finally delivered a second blow to his wife, knocking her to the floor.
The boy was seized with a blind rage. He beat his father on the legs with his fists, putting all his hatred into the blows.
Francis grabbed his son like a kitten by the collar and threw him aside. The boy fell on his back, hitting his head on the floor.
“You little thing imagined you were a man, didn’t you?” Well, tomorrow you will be punished like a man. This will immediately discourage you from sticking your nose where they are not asked! Scoundrel and scammer! the duke shouted, looking down at his son.
The father left, but the words… Cruel words full of hatred and contempt remained in my memory. For some time he lay on the floor and trembled with pain and unbearable resentment. Pain squeezed his heart so that even sweat broke out on his face. Trying to cope with it, the boy tightly closed his eyes and tensed. Gradually, everything passed: the desire to cry disappeared, the pain and resentment disappeared. When the boy opened his eyes again, he saw his mother sprawled on the floor. He crawled towards her like a puppy, she raised herself on her hands and sat down. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
- Mom, how are you? You feel bad? he asked, and his words sounded quite grown-up.
“My dear,” his mother whispered, hugging him and crying. “Your father didn’t want it, believe me, he didn’t!
The mother sobbed softly. The child calmly allowed her to embrace him. And suddenly he realized everything. He realized that his mother was telling a lie, that every expression and every gesture of his father had a certain meaning, that his father hated both his mother and him.
But all this was not so important. The main thing was that tonight he had learned to endure pain and overcome fear, that he began to feel separate from the emptiness that surrounded him, and it was huge.
Dragmore, 1898
“You have visitors, my lady.
“But I never have visitors,” said Nicole.
“Lady Margaret Adderley and Stacy Worthington, my lady,” Aldrick announced with an impenetrable face.
Nicole was surprised. Of course, it would be an exaggeration to say that she does not have visitors: her best friend the Viscountess Searle, as well as local nobles and relatives, visit her quite often. But they don't count. She does not gather guests, like other young people of her circle. At least not in the last few years. What did this lady need, because she did not know them?
"Tell them I'll be right down." Order them to serve refreshing drinks, Aldrick,” Nicole said to the butler. She was overcome with excitement.
Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Aldrick pointed to the breeches with a nod of his head and said:
“Perhaps I should tell them that you will be here in a few minutes, my lady?”
Nicole laughed at her masculine breeches and dirty riding boots. Although humanity was entering a new era, women did not yet wear men's clothing.
“It is very good that you reminded me of this, otherwise I would not have been able to find out the reason for the visit of these ladies. If they saw me in such an outfit, they would immediately run away.
As she sorted through the dresses, Nicole reflected that her carefree attitude and sometimes inappropriate sense of humor made it difficult to communicate with people in her circle. Nicole hasn't been out for a long time. And that didn't bother her at all. She was happy in Dragmore. Detours of the estate and entertaining rides on horseback, horses, books made up her life in her native estate. She didn't want another life. Still, it's nice to be visited.
Nicole put on an undershirt, stockings, a petticoat, she hated corsets and never wore them. She was twenty-three and without shoes she was five foot ten. She decided once and for all not to tug at the waist, to make it look like she was shorter, and that she weighed only a hundred pounds, and that she was actually eighteen years old. If anyone knew about this, how many conversations there would be. People love to chat. But in this case, no one could know about it, and if they did, she would remain adamant. And it's not about convenience. Nicole read a lot, just swallowed books. She agreed with her favorite writers, who favored knickers and women's joggers over modern fashion, which they claimed was unhealthy. Corsets, like the rules of conduct, are invented by society in order to keep women in their place. For the same purpose, it invents fashion.
And in general, is it possible to demand from a woman, tightened in a corset, any other behavior than how to sit decorously and smile, barely breathing? A woman in a corset will not be able to run, ride, it is difficult for her to smile and even think. A woman in a corset is the very modesty and restraint.
Nicole paused for a moment in front of the mirror, grimacing at herself. She was unhappy with her appearance. “Well, what did you expect,” she asked her reflection. - Be smaller? To be blonde? What are you, fool? If people…”
Door opened.
- Did you call me, ma'am?
Nicole blushed. It wasn't enough for the servants to catch her talking to herself...
– Yes, Ani, please take my breeches to Sue Ann. The knee on the left leg must be darned.
Nicole smiled until Ani left the room. Then, frowning, she looked in the mirror again. She was dark-haired and tall. Jet-black hair, and this height, and a swarthy complexion, she inherited from her father and nothing from her blond, petite mother. Not being a bore, Nicole still constantly complained that her hair was not at least brown.
She should have asked Anya to do her hair instead of making up the breeches story, she thought as she ran a comb through her thick, wavy, waist-length black hair that two pairs of unaccustomed hands could not handle. But it was too late to call the maid, and Nicole tied her hair with a ribbon. Lady Adderley and Worthington were still waiting. To linger any longer would be rude. Nicole quickly left the room, flew down the stairs, forgetting that she was wearing a skirt, then walked quickly, but calmly and gracefully, just like a lady. Downstairs in the hall, she stood a little, suggesting to herself that the guests had come only to visit her, that such receptions were arranged by young ladies every day. As she hurried down the marble-tiled corridor, she thought it would be nice to have Countess Dragmore with her right now. She would be able to give her a lot of good advice. But Jane and Regina, Nicole's younger sister, were in London. Regina did not want to sit in the country at a time when ball season was in full swing. Nicole did not mind that her parents wanted to marry off her younger sister first. She herself may never marry at all.
Nicole paused at the door of the large, bright, yellow-coloured living room. The girls sitting on the chintz sofa stopped talking instantly. One was a blonde and the other a fiery brunette, both blue-eyed. They were staring at Nicole. It's funny, but she suddenly felt like some exotic creature being studied through a magnifying glass, but this feeling quickly passed. She entered smiling.
How nice of you to visit us.
Both girls stood up. They made no secret of their curiosity as they floated towards tall Nicole to greet her. The girls were no taller than five feet, and Nicole felt like a tower towering over their small figures.
“Lady Shelton,” the blonde said, “I'm Lady Margaret Adderley, and this is my friend Lady Stacy Worthington.
All formalities were followed, and Nicole invited them to sit on the sofa. She herself sat down in an armchair upholstered in brocade. Stacy looked at her, perhaps too candidly.
"You don't know anything about the duke?" Margaret asked excitedly.
“The Duke of Clayborough?” Nicole asked, thinking at the same time that he could hardly have anything to do with these young ladies.
- Yes! Margaret lit up with delight. “He inherited Chapman Hall. You imagine, he is now your neighbor.
“Of course,” said Nicole, and for some reason blushed a little. All she knew about the Duke was that he had arrived at Chapman Hall, which was only one mile from her home.
“He's my cousin,” Stacey Worthington announced. She stated this with a self-satisfied smile, as if it were an honor to be the duke's cousin.
“You are so lucky,” Nicole said.
Stacy did not catch the sarcasm and continued importantly:
- We've known each other since childhood.
Nicole smiled.
“He is now at his estate,” said Margaret, “and this Friday we are giving a masquerade ball in his honor at Tarent Hall. In any case, we must meet him properly. I am sure that if the Count and Countess were at home, they would take upon themselves the honor of hosting this ball. But since there are none, my mother decided to do it herself.
Stacy continued with a smile.
Nicole was struck not only by what Stacy said, but also by how she said it. She was invited in a rather rude manner. In fact, it was stated that the invitation was forced. Moreover, Stacy mentioned that Nicole does not travel to London with her parents, as unmarried girls from noble families do. The implication was that Nicole was not accepted in London.
- ABOUT! Nicole moaned in response, knowing full well that she was being humiliated in her own home. She rarely appeared in public, in fact, she had not appeared in society for several years. Did this woman know about it? Obviously she knew. Everyone knew.
"Of course you will come?" Stacy smiled kindly. - Is not it?
Nicole couldn't smile. She's been challenged. And it seemed to her that that old story had already been forgotten.
- Because? Stacy continued to smile.
Both women were unpleasant to Nicole, she saw how they expected her to refuse. After all, the invitation was not made out of friendly feelings, but for formal reasons: after all, she is the daughter of Count Dragmore.
“Of course I will,” Nicole said proudly.
- Will you come? Margaret asked, unable to contain her surprise.
Anger gripped Nicole. She did not understand what they wanted from her. Only one thing is clear - she is challenged.
“Until Friday,” Nicole said, rising from her chair.
When the women left, Nicole regretted her decision. But how could you not accept this challenge?
After that long-standing scandal, Nicole became the object of disgusting gossip and fabrications. It was very painful, but she continued to act as if nothing had happened: she walked with her head held high and did not pay attention to gossip. And when the scandal began to subside, Nicole said goodbye to everyone and stopped going out.
She liked to get up with the sun, spend the whole day on horseback, look after the estate with her father and brothers. Nicole loved her family, Dragmore, and was quite happy with her life. True, she missed when Regina left for London and led a social life there: she dressed in fabulous outfits, attended balls, danced, met young people. Nicole sometimes wanted to be there too. Regina has always been considered a beauty, the queen of the ball, and Nicole - never. They looked at her, whispered behind her back, recalling the scandal. One had only to imagine it, and any desire for secular life disappeared.
And now she not only has to go to the ball, but this time she will have to do it alone. She was not yet thirty years old, and before that age a lady should not appear at a ball unaccompanied. But she will go to the masquerade alone. Since the challenge has been thrown, she will definitely go. If she'd been a little more sensible, she would have put Stacy Worthington out of her mind, as a young lady should, and stayed at home. But…
There was always something wild, primordial about her. Close people said that it was from her father, although he had a different opinion. At twenty-three years old, Nicole was mature enough to recognize this character trait. It was this wildness that made her accept the challenge thrown by Stacy, and against common sense, attracted her to the masquerade.
Nicole always hated the rules and conventions that women of her time obeyed. Thank God she was not alone in this. There were very few such rebels, but they met. It was assumed that women of her circle could only do very sophisticated things worthy of a lady - arranging flowers, watercolor painting, playing music. When Nicole was eight years old, they tried to teach her these arts. But even then, these activities infuriated her. She couldn't get over the fact that she had to sit and paint roses while her brothers Chad and Ed and their father were riding around the Dragmore, visiting farms and barnyards. Of course, she was forced to engage in noble women's affairs, but she did this with great reluctance and literally pursued her father and brothers with requests to take her with them - a liberty unheard of for well-bred girls! Throughout her childhood and adolescence, she regretted that she was not born a boy. If she did not race somewhere with her brothers on horseback, then she would sit at home and read. I read everything from Byron's sentimental poems to John Stuart Mills' treatise On the Rights of Women. Her parents did not think about her boyish inclinations until she became a girl. Then they began to try not to notice her behavior, which violated the conventions accepted in secular society.
She had only three days to come up with some unusual costume for a masquerade. She solved this problem by searching the huge attic in the house. Her mother, Jane Barkley, was once a very popular actress. But after marriage, she left the amateur stage and devoted herself to her children, her husband, and the Dragmore estate. Until now, there was a chest with magnificent theatrical costumes in the attic.
Nicole chose a gypsy outfit. She herself saw that in this bright suit, and with her swarthy skin, she looks like a real gypsy. The costume was quite bold: the blouse defiantly slipped off the shoulders, the skirt was only to the knees. When Stacy Worthington and her girlfriends see the brown-skinned gypsy, they will be shocked. Nicole had no doubt that the organizers of the ball were not waiting for her. And the parents, having learned what she did, will surely experience a nervous shock.
Nicole rode in a spacious black Dragmore carriage drawn by six gray horses. Four footmen in livery accompanied her. She smiled because she was wearing an extravagant costume, and because she had not been to a costume ball for a hundred years. She was overcome with excitement. The round entrance to the house, made in the Gregorian style, was already filled with carriages and carriages. Suddenly, a carriage twice her own size turned around and stood in front of them. In the moonlight, its black polished sides shone, and huge lanterns hung from two doors to illuminate the road. The emblem was a red-black-gold shield, against which two lions, red and gold, were depicted. The lions supported a silver ribbon on which Nicole could barely make out the inscription: "Above all - honor." No one but the Duke of Clayborough could have such a pretentious coat of arms. Four black horses with a golden plume on their bridles were pulling a carriage. Four footmen in beautiful red, black and gold liveries stood on the steps. A dozen riders on either side of the carriage accompanied the duke, all mounted on identical bay horses, all in the duke's tricolor uniform. Such a departure was worthy of the king himself. Both carriages were on the same track - Nicole's carriage behind the duke's carriage. Nicole managed to catch a glimpse of the guest of honor. It was a sedate man, dressed in a black coat. A black cloak with red lining fell from his shoulders. The Duchess was not with him.
Nicole was helped out of the carriage, and she hurried up the steps to the brightly lit house. The front door was open. The butler accepted her cloak and did not even raise an eyebrow when he saw her outfit. She was accompanied to the doors of the ballroom by a footman. Nicole's heart sank. When the major-domo asked her name, she mechanically answered.
She instantly remembered the many parties she had often attended before and where so many mistakes had been made. All her insolence disappeared somewhere, and she felt fear.
“Hadrian Braxton-Lowell, ninth Duke of Clayborough!” - announced the majordomo. The name was followed by a long chain of his titles.
He was much taller than she thought, probably half a foot taller than she was. Long, dark brown, partly burnt hair hung down on broad, powerful shoulders. Perhaps too long.
The Duke waited patiently and indifferently. As soon as the majordomo had finished, he went into the ballroom. Nicole took a few steps forward and managed to see how a beautifully dressed woman, apparently the mistress of the house, greeted the duke.
“Lady Nicole Bragg Shelton,” the majordomo said.
Nicole didn't hear him. My heart was beating somewhere in my throat. With all her being, she felt both bare legs and bare feet. All eyes turned to her. It became quiet. Nicole prayed to God that all this attention should go to the duke and not to her. But he turned around and glared at her, too.
Holding her head high, barefoot, like a real gypsy, she gracefully descended the stairs - a swaying skirt, a monisto around her neck, her hair loose to the waist. A whisper was heard. She shouldn't have come here. No one has forgotten anything, and her costume is too bold even for a masquerade.
Unfortunately for her, she saw Stacy Worthington. She stood in front of everyone, dressed in a white dress in the style of the Regency. Nice decent suit. Stacy didn't faint from Nicole's outfit. She chuckled. Nicole tried to forget about her, especially since the duke continued to look at Nicole. Somehow she managed to control herself and went to meet the hostess.
“Lady Shelton,” she mumbled, curtsying.
The viscountess looked at her from under half-lowered eyelashes, but Nicole felt only the duke's burning gaze on her.
- Oh yeah! Lady Shelton, how good of you to come. And… what a… charming… costume…
Either from everyone's attention, or from close proximity to the Duke, Nicole could neither breathe nor smile.
Brag family - 7
OCR & SpellCheck Anita
"Scandalous Love": Olma-Press; Moscow; 1996
ISBN 5?87322-320-3
Original: Brenda Joyce, "Scandalous Love"
Translation: E. Zvereva
annotation
The love of extraordinary people is always extraordinary. Using the age-old theme of the taming of the shrew, American Brenda Joyce tells in a fascinating way how the difficult, full of dramatic conflicts, relationship between the proud beauty Nicole Shelton and the Duke of Clayborough developed. The novel is set in England at the turn of the century.
Brenda Joyce
scandalous love
PROLOGUE
Clayborough, 1874
Loud, excited voices, happy laughter, and the solemn sounds of a string quartet resounded in the hall full of guests. All this cheerful noise reached the room, which was two floors above. There, in his bedroom, a little boy lay on a huge bed and listened to what was happening in the house. And although he was only four years old, he did not light the lamp that stood nearby. The caring nanny left the door slightly ajar, and the light from the old lamp in the corridor was enough for him. The flickering flames created silhouettes of bizarre animals and monsters on the bedroom wall, and sometimes the boy's imagination turned these creatures into people. They were women glittering with jewels and men in black tailcoats. It seemed to him that he was with them, as mature, as strong and solid as the lords, as majestic and courageous as the duke, his father. No, stronger, nobler and more courageous than his father.
The boy smiled, for a moment really feeling like an adult. But suddenly he heard them. The smile faded from his face as he sat up abruptly on the bed, trembling with excitement. They were in the corridor, next to the door to his room. His mother - her voice is soft and pleasant - spoke almost in a whisper:
- I didn't expect you to come back. Let me help you.
And his father:
You seem to want to send me to bed as soon as possible.
There was dislike in the voice. The boy wrapped his arms around the blanket. The shadows no longer frightened him. The monster was now nearby, in the corridor.
- What's the matter, Isabelle? Francis Braxton-Lowell asked sharply. - Did I upset you? Or were you afraid that I would go out to the guests and talk to them? Looks like I'm not very happy to be here.
“Of course not,” the mother replied calmly.
The boy suppressed the urge to stay in bed. He quietly slid off her, made his way to the half-open door, and peered out into the corridor.
The Duke, tall, handsome, blond, unshaven, in rumpled and dirty clothes, could hardly contain his irritation. He turned sharply, nearly losing his balance, and staggered down the corridor. The Duchess, a fair-haired, strikingly beautiful and elegant woman in a pale blue dress adorned with jewels, who seemed perfect to the boy, lowered her head sadly and followed her husband.
The boy kept a close eye on them. The duke paused at the door of his room.
"I don't need your help," he snapped.
- Are you going downstairs?
Are you afraid that I will embarrass you?
- Of course not.
- You know how to lie. Why didn't you invite me over, Isabelle?
The mother stood with her back to her son, and he did not see her face, but her voice no longer sounded as calm as before:
- If you want to come down to us, then why don't you first clean yourself up?
“Maybe I’ll go down,” he replied sharply. His eyes fell on the necklace that glittered on her chest.
- I recently ordered it.
- Devilry! It doesn't look like glass at all!
Isabelle was silent. In the ensuing silence, his father's rapid breathing could be heard. The boy crept closer and hid behind a lacquered lectern where daily prayers were held. The Duke's eyes were ready to pop out of their sockets. Horror seized the child. Suddenly the duke tore the jewels from his mother's neck. Nearly choking, Isabelle stifled a scream. The boy rushed forward.
- It's real! .. - the duke shouted. - My God, these are real diamonds! You… lying creature! You've been hiding money from me all this time, haven't you?
The Duchess stood frozen.
- Yes? Where did you get the money for this? Where the hell are you!
"From fees," Isabelle said, her voice trembling. - We received the first deduction from the Dupre mining company.
- First you rent my land without my knowledge, and now you hide my money? the duke shouted angrily. "And you won't stop there, will you?"
"How else can I save your fortune?"
With surprising agility for a drunk, the duke approached his wife and with a strong blow to the face threw her against the wall.
“You have always been a fraud, Isabelle, from day one of our lives. Fraudster and liar. Staggering, he was about to hit her again.
- Stop it! the boy shouted, clasping his father's legs. - Don't hit her, don't hit her!
"Damn you both!" Francis yelled, and yet he struck his wife a second blow, which knocked her to the floor.
The boy was seized with a blind rage. He beat his father on the legs with his fists, putting all his hatred into the blows.
Francis grabbed his son like a kitten by the collar and threw him aside. The boy fell on his back, hitting his head on the floor.
- You, insignificance, imagined yourself a man, right? Well, tomorrow you will be punished like a man. This will immediately discourage you from sticking your nose where they are not asked! Scoundrel and scammer! the duke shouted, looking down at his son.
The father left, but the words… Cruel words full of hatred and contempt remained in my memory. For some time he lay on the floor and trembled with pain and unbearable resentment. Pain squeezed his heart so that even sweat broke out on his face. Trying to cope with it, the boy tightly closed his eyes and tensed. Gradually, everything passed: the desire to cry disappeared, the pain and resentment disappeared. When the boy opened his eyes again, he saw his mother sprawled on the floor. He crawled towards her like a puppy, she raised herself on her hands and sat down. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
- Mom, how are you? You feel bad? he asked, and his words sounded quite grown-up.
- My dear, - hugging him and crying, his mother whispered. "Your father didn't want it, believe me, he didn't!"
The mother sobbed softly. The child calmly allowed her to embrace him. And suddenly he realized everything. He realized that his mother was telling a lie, that every expression and every gesture of his father had a certain meaning, that his father hated both his mother and him.
But all this was not so important. The main thing was that tonight he had learned to endure pain and overcome fear, that he began to feel separate from the emptiness that surrounded him, and it was huge.
CHAPTER 1
Dragmore, 1898
- You have visitors, my lady.
“But I never have visitors,” Nicole protested.
"Lady Margaret Adderley and Stacy Worthington, my lady," Aldrick announced with an impenetrable face.
Nicole was surprised. Of course, it would be an exaggeration to say that she does not have visitors: her best friend the Viscountess Searle, as well as local nobles and relatives, visit her quite often. But they don't count. She does not gather guests, like other young people of her circle. At least not in the last few years. What did this lady need, because she did not know them?
- Tell them I'll be right down. Order them to serve refreshing drinks, Aldrick, - said Nicole to the butler. She was overcome with excitement.
Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Aldrick pointed to the breeches with a nod of his head and said:
“Perhaps I should tell them that you will be back in a few minutes, my lady?”
Nicole laughed at her masculine breeches and dirty riding boots. Although humanity was entering a new era, women did not yet wear men's clothing.
- It is very good that you reminded me of this, otherwise I would not have been able to find out the reason for the visit of these ladies. If they saw me in such an outfit, they would immediately run away.
As she sorted through the dresses, Nicole reflected that her carefree attitude and sometimes inappropriate sense of humor made it difficult to communicate with people in her circle. Nicole hasn't been out for a long time. And that didn't bother her at all. She was happy in Dragmore. Detours of the estate and entertaining rides on horseback, horses, books made up her life in her native estate. She didn't want another life. Still, it's nice to be visited.
Nicole put on an undershirt, stockings, a petticoat, she hated corsets and never wore them. She was twenty-three and without shoes she was five foot ten. She decided once and for all not to tug at the waist, to make it look like she was shorter, and that she weighed only a hundred pounds, and that she was actually eighteen years old. If anyone knew about this, how many conversations there would be. People love to chat. But in this case, no one could know about it, and if they did, she would remain adamant. And it's not about convenience. Nicole read a lot, just swallowed books. She agreed with her favorite writers, who favored knickers and women's joggers over modern fashion, which they claimed was unhealthy. Corsets, like the rules of conduct, are invented by society in order to keep women in their place. For the same purpose, it invents fashion.
And in general, is it possible to demand from a woman, tightened in a corset, any other behavior than how to sit decorously and smile, barely breathing? A woman in a corset will not be able to run, ride, it is difficult for her to smile and even think. A woman in a corset is the very modesty and restraint.
Nicole paused for a moment in front of the mirror, grimacing at herself. She was unhappy with her appearance. “Well, what did you expect,” she asked her reflection. - To be shorter? To be blonde? What are you, fool? If people…”
Door opened.
- Did you call me, ma'am?
Nicole blushed. It wasn't enough for the servants to catch her talking to herself...
- Yes, Ani, please take my breeches to Sue Ann. The knee on the left leg must be darned.
Nicole smiled until Ani left the room. Then, frowning, she looked in the mirror again. She was dark-haired and tall. Jet-black hair, and this height, and a swarthy complexion, she inherited from her father and nothing from her blond, petite mother. Not being a bore, Nicole still constantly complained that her hair was not at least brown.
She should have asked Anya to do her hair instead of making up the breeches story, she thought as she ran a comb through her thick, wavy, waist-length black hair that two pairs of unaccustomed hands could not handle. But it was too late to call the maid, and Nicole tied her hair with a ribbon. Lady Adderley and Worthington were still waiting. To linger any longer would be rude. Nicole quickly left the room, flew down the stairs, forgetting that she was wearing a skirt, then walked quickly, but calmly and gracefully, just like a lady. Downstairs in the hall, she stood a little, suggesting to herself that the guests had come only to visit her, that such receptions were arranged by young ladies every day. As she hurried down the marble-tiled corridor, she thought it would be nice to have Countess Dragmore with her right now. She would be able to give her a lot of good advice. But Jane and Regina, Nicole's younger sister, were in London. Regina did not want to sit in the country at a time when ball season was in full swing. Nicole did not mind that her parents wanted to marry off her younger sister first. She herself may never marry at all.
Nicole paused at the door of the large, bright, yellow-coloured living room. The girls sitting on the chintz sofa stopped talking instantly. One was a blonde and the other a fiery brunette, both blue-eyed. They were staring at Nicole. It's funny, but she suddenly felt like some exotic creature being studied through a magnifying glass, but this feeling quickly passed. She entered smiling.
How nice of you to visit us.
Both girls stood up. They made no secret of their curiosity as they floated towards tall Nicole to greet her. The girls were no taller than five feet, and Nicole felt like a tower towering over their small figures.
"Lady Shelton," said the blonde, "I'm Lady Margaret Adderley, and this is my friend Lady Stacy Worthington."
All formalities were followed, and Nicole invited them to sit on the sofa. She herself sat down in an armchair upholstered in brocade. Stacy looked at her, perhaps too candidly.
"You don't know anything about the duke?" asked Margaret excitedly.
- The Duke of Clayborough? Nicole asked, thinking at the same time that he could hardly have anything to do with these young ladies.
- Yes! Margaret lit up with delight. - He inherited Chapman Hall. You imagine, he is now your neighbor.
“Of course,” said Nicole, and for some reason blushed a little. All she knew about the Duke was that he had arrived at Chapman Hall, which was only one mile from her home.
"He's my cousin," Stacey Worthington announced. She stated this with a self-satisfied smile, as if it were an honor to be the duke's cousin.
“You are so lucky,” Nicole said.
Stacy did not catch the sarcasm and continued importantly:
- We've known each other since childhood.
Nicole smiled.
“He is now at his estate,” said Margaret, “and this Friday we are giving a masquerade ball in his honor at Tarent Hall. In any case, we must meet him properly. I am sure that if the Count and Countess were at home, they would take upon themselves the honor of hosting this ball. But since there are none, my mother decided to do it herself.
Stacy continued with a smile.
- We knew you were here and not in London. It would probably be very wrong if we didn't invite you. That's why we're here!
Nicole was struck not only by what Stacy said, but also by how she said it. She was invited in a rather rude manner. In fact, it was stated that the invitation was forced. Moreover, Stacy mentioned that Nicole does not travel to London with her parents, as unmarried girls from noble families do. The implication was that Nicole was not accepted in London.
- ABOUT! Nicole moaned in response, knowing full well that she was being humiliated in her own home. She rarely appeared in public, in fact, she had not appeared in society for several years. Did this woman know about it? Obviously she knew. Everyone knew.
- Of course, you will come? Stacy smiled kindly. - Is not it?
Nicole couldn't smile. She's been challenged. And it seemed to her that that old story had already been forgotten.
- Because? Stacy continued to smile.
Both women were unpleasant to Nicole, she saw how they expected her to refuse. After all, the invitation was not made out of friendly feelings, but for formal reasons: after all, she is the daughter of Count Dragmore.
“Of course I will,” Nicole said proudly.
- Come?! asked Margaret, not holding back her surprise.
Anger gripped Nicole. She did not understand what they wanted from her. Only one thing is clear - she is challenged.
“Until Friday,” Nicole said, rising from her chair.
When the women left, Nicole regretted her decision. But how could you not accept this challenge?
After that long-standing scandal, Nicole became the object of disgusting gossip and fabrications. It was very painful, but she continued to act as if nothing had happened: she walked with her head held high and did not pay attention to gossip. And when the scandal began to subside, Nicole said goodbye to everyone and stopped going out.
She liked to get up with the sun, spend the whole day on horseback, look after the estate with her father and brothers. Nicole loved her family, Dragmore, and was quite happy with her life. True, she missed when Regina left for London and led a social life there: she dressed in fabulous outfits, attended balls, danced, met young people. Nicole sometimes wanted to be there too. Regina has always been considered a beauty, the queen of the ball, and Nicole - never. They looked at her, whispered behind her back, recalling the scandal. One had only to imagine it, and any desire for secular life disappeared.
And now she not only has to go to the ball, but this time she will have to do it alone. She was not yet thirty years old, and before that age a lady should not appear at a ball unaccompanied. But she will go to the masquerade alone. Since the challenge has been thrown, she will definitely go. If she'd been a little more sensible, she would have put Stacy Worthington out of her mind, as a young lady should, and stayed at home. But…
There was always something wild, primordial about her. Close people said that it was from her father, although he had a different opinion. At twenty-three years old, Nicole was mature enough to recognize this character trait. It was this wildness that made her accept the challenge thrown by Stacy, and against common sense, attracted her to the masquerade.
Nicole always hated the rules and conventions that women of her time obeyed. Thank God she was not alone in this. There were very few such rebels, but they met. It was assumed that women of her circle could only do very sophisticated things worthy of a lady - arranging flowers, watercolor painting, playing music. When Nicole was eight years old, they tried to teach her these arts. But even then, these activities infuriated her. She couldn't get over the fact that she had to sit and paint roses while her brothers Chad and Ed and their father were riding around the Dragmore, visiting farms and barnyards. Of course, she was forced to engage in noble women's affairs, but she did this with great reluctance and literally pursued her father and brothers with requests to take her with them - a liberty unheard of for well-bred girls! Throughout her childhood and adolescence, she regretted that she was not born a boy. If she did not race somewhere with her brothers on horseback, then she would sit at home and read. I read everything from Byron's sentimental poems to John Stuart Mills' treatise On the Rights of Women. Her parents did not think about her boyish inclinations until she became a girl. Then they began to try not to notice her behavior, which violated the conventions accepted in secular society.
She had only three days to come up with some unusual costume for a masquerade. She solved this problem by searching the huge attic in the house. Her mother, Jane Barkley, was once a very popular actress. But after marriage, she left the amateur stage and devoted herself to her children, her husband, and the Dragmore estate. Until now, there was a chest with magnificent theatrical costumes in the attic.
Nicole chose a gypsy outfit. She herself saw that in this bright suit, and with her swarthy skin, she looks like a real gypsy. The costume was quite bold: the blouse defiantly slipped off the shoulders, the skirt was only to the knees. When Stacy Worthington and her girlfriends see the brown-skinned gypsy, they will be shocked. Nicole had no doubt that the organizers of the ball were not waiting for her. And the parents, having learned what she did, will surely experience a nervous shock.
Nicole rode in a spacious black Dragmore carriage drawn by six gray horses. Four footmen in livery accompanied her. She smiled because she was wearing an extravagant costume, and because she had not been to a costume ball for a hundred years. She was overcome with excitement. The round entrance to the house, made in the Gregorian style, was already filled with carriages and carriages. Suddenly, a carriage twice her own size turned around and stood in front of them. In the moonlight, its black polished sides shone, and huge lanterns hung from two doors to illuminate the road. The emblem was a red-black-gold shield, against which two lions, red and gold, were depicted. The lions supported a silver ribbon, on which Nicole could hardly make out the inscription: "First of all - honor." No one but the Duke of Clayborough could have such a pretentious coat of arms. Four black horses with a golden plume on their bridles were pulling a carriage. Four footmen in beautiful red, black and gold liveries stood on the steps. A dozen riders on either side of the carriage accompanied the duke, all mounted on identical bay horses, all in the duke's tricolor uniform. Such a departure was worthy of the king himself. Both carriages stood on the same track - Nicole's carriage behind the duke's carriage. Nicole managed to catch a glimpse of the guest of honor. It was a sedate man, dressed in a black coat. A black cloak with red lining fell from his shoulders. The Duchess was not with him.
Nicole was helped out of the carriage, and she hurried up the steps to the brightly lit house. The front door was open. The butler accepted her cloak and did not even raise an eyebrow when he saw her outfit. She was accompanied to the doors of the ballroom by a footman. Nicole's heart sank. When the major-domo asked her name, she mechanically answered.
She instantly remembered the many parties she had often attended before and where so many mistakes had been made. All her insolence disappeared somewhere, and she felt fear.
- Hadrian Braxton-Lovell, ninth Duke of Clayborough! - announced the majordomo. The name was followed by a long chain of his titles.
He was much taller than she thought, probably half a foot taller than she was. Long, dark brown, partly burnt hair hung down on broad, powerful shoulders. Perhaps too long.
The Duke waited patiently and indifferently. As soon as the majordomo had finished, he went into the ballroom. Nicole took a few steps forward and managed to see how a beautifully dressed woman, apparently the mistress of the house, greeted the duke.
“Lady Nicole Bragg Shelton,” the majordomo said.
Nicole didn't hear him. My heart was beating somewhere in my throat. With all her being, she felt both bare legs and bare feet. All eyes turned to her. It became quiet. Nicole prayed to God that all this attention should go to the duke and not to her. But he turned around and glared at her, too.
Holding her head high, barefoot, like a real gypsy, she gracefully descended the stairs - a swaying skirt, a monisto around her neck, her hair loose to the waist. A whisper was heard. She shouldn't have come here. No one has forgotten anything, and her costume is too bold even for a masquerade.
Unfortunately for her, she saw Stacy Worthington. She stood in front of everyone, dressed in a white dress in the style of the Regency. Nice decent suit. Stacy didn't faint from Nicole's outfit. She chuckled. Nicole tried to forget about her, especially since the duke continued to look at Nicole. Somehow she managed to control herself and went to meet the hostess.
"Lady Shelton," she mumbled, curtsying.
The viscountess looked at her from under half-lowered eyelashes, but Nicole felt only the duke's burning gaze on her.
- Oh yeah! Lady Shelton, how good of you to come. And… what a… charming… costume…
Either from everyone's attention, or from close proximity to the Duke, Nicole could neither breathe nor smile.
"Thank you," she muttered.
“A magnificent suit,” said the duke in a calm and confident voice.
Nicole turned around and their eyes met. He was handsome. Stunningly handsome and courageous. She felt like a helpless child next to him. His eyes mesmerized her.
"You are incomparable, Lady Shelton," he said peremptorily and slid his eyes over her figure. Then he suddenly turned his back on her, bowed to the hostess and walked away, leaving the women alone.
"Incomparable," repeated Lady Adderley, as if she could not believe it.
Nicole's heart began to beat faster again. A wild feeling, almost ecstasy, seized her. She realized that his words were a compliment to her. God, this gorgeous, gorgeous man complimented her! She did not notice how she was among the guests. They still stared at her, but now she didn't care. His words sounded in her ears, and she forgot about everything and everyone. “Gorgeous costume… You are incomparable… Lady Shelton…”
Nicole did not remember how she had a glass of champagne in her hand. Her pulse was racing, she was very hot. Looking around the guests, she sometimes saw him too. And each time she noted that he was looking at her carefully.
His face was tense all the time, and his gaze had some kind of magnetic effect. The Duke looked back at Nicole and raised his glass of champagne as if toasting both of them, to her and to himself.
The Duke of Clayborough... How long will he be at Chapman Hall? Is he married? What happens to her? She was in a state of intense nervous excitement and could not take her eyes off him.
With a bored look, he listened to one of the guests. Stacy Worthington stood beside him, looking up at him admiringly. Suddenly, Nicole was seized by a fit of jealousy. She even surprised herself. As if sensing her unease, he turned his head and pierced her with his gaze. She knew she had to lower her eyes, but she couldn't.
It was as if an electric current passed between them.
- Dear Nicole! How many years have we not seen each other!
Nearby stood the white-haired Marquise Hazelwood. At one time, she slandered Nicole the most, but now the Marquise smiled at her, as if she were her closest friend.
- How nice to see you again, Nicole. The Duke says that you and your suit are just right.
Nicole did not yet understand what kind of game the Marquise was up to, but she was wary.
“Yes, it seems to me that four years have passed since the party at the Castletons,” Nicole said without any warmth. - Do you remember that little holiday?
Of course, the Marquise should have remembered how she finished with Nicole. Then, in the presence of the guests of the Castletons, she allowed herself to call Nicole obscene, urged not to accept her. Now she was smiling as if that evening had never happened.
- Yes, so much water has flowed under the bridge ... - the marquise sighed. Then, raising her glasses, she began to examine Nicole's costume, nodding her head approvingly.
“Now I see why the Duke found your costume unique. Please come and visit us when you are near Hazelwood and say hello to the Earl and Countess. Touching Nicole's hand in a very friendly gesture, she moved away from her.
Nicole was outraged. She understood perfectly why the Marchioness had invited her. If the Duke had not praised her costume, no one would have shown her friendly feelings.
Nicole drank another glass of champagne and began to walk around, hoping to stumble upon the duke somewhere unexpectedly. For the first time, she understood the power that people like the duke had. He didn't try to be her protector. His review of her was quite impartial. However, everyone began to treat her as if there was no scandal.
"You don't look very happy, Lady Shelton," came a deep voice from behind her.
Nicole gasped for joy. She whirled around, spilling some champagne. He stood so close that her breasts, covered only by a light shirt and a silk blouse, touched his arm. Blushing, she stepped back and spilled more wine.
It was hard to understand what his eyes expressed when he took the glass from her hands. She had time to notice that his eyes were not brown, but some kind of golden color, like sherry brandy.
Her behavior probably amused him.
"Let me add some wine," he suggested.
Instantly a servant appeared, holding a tray of sizzling champagne. The Duke handed her one glass and took the other for himself. When he touched her hand, Nicole felt as if he touched something inside her that was probably her soul.
- Why are you angry?
“You can’t say that I was angry,” Nicole answered cautiously. She tried to control herself. But, looking at his lips, she wanted him to kiss her. This thought again brought her into disarray.
"You don't seem to be angry now," the duke said, looking her over slowly.
Something in his voice evoked an instant response in her, something very close, but Nicole could not determine what it was. She felt her breasts fill with firmness.
"Yeah, I'm not angry anymore," she breathed.
- Well, - he said in a low, caressing voice, - I would not like you to be angry with me at the very first minute of our acquaintance.
There was some meaning in these words, it was difficult for her to guess what he was thinking about and why he singled her out from all of them. To her own surprise, she said:
- I will never be angry with you. - Nicole broke out, she was terribly ashamed of such a frank confession.
- And ... here you are again changed. There is something to think about. I imagine that your mood, like the rest of you, is constantly changing. This is interesting.
She looked at him wide-eyed, speechless. And what could she even answer him without understanding the meaning of his words.
“I… I… don't know. She was definitely dead.
- And I have no doubts about this, - he said almost in a whisper, - just as I have no doubt that your originality goes far beyond the limits set by society.
Nicole imagined herself riding a horse in a man's suit. This image seemed to give her strength. She looked him straight in the eyes, her breathing became light and even. Yes it's true. He took a deep breath and looked at her in a special way.
Nicole immediately felt that he did not understand and gave her words a meaning that she did not put into them at all. She decided to change the subject.
“We are neighbors now,” she said politely. - Chapman Hall is very close to Dragmore.
"How convenient," he replied dryly. “So it would be easy for me to invite you as a neighbor, right?
His golden eyes never left her. She couldn't believe her ears. She smiled and didn't understand why he took a deep breath again.
"I ride past Chapman quite often," she replied with vehemence.
- No doubt. So, the next time you drive by, be sure to turn up to me to say hello, ”he said in an imperative tone.
"Definitely," Nicole promised.
CHAPTER 2
The Duke of Clayborough returned to Chapman Hall at midnight very annoyed. As a reclusive person, he could not stand the holidays that were arranged in his honor, knowing full well that his popularity is a tribute to his wealth, titles and position in society.
He had no respect for the people like Lady Adderley who always hung around him and didn't think they were very smart.
He never enjoyed balls and parties. The Duke considered it a waste of time. From the age of eighteen, he managed the vast Clayborough estate, while his father, the eighth Duke Francis of Clayborough, thoughtlessly ran into debt. While the father was walking and having fun, his son fought with all his might to save the family from ruin. Clayborough's property, along with a hundred farms, covered two hundred thousand acres and included land in Sussex, Kent, Derboshire and even Durham. The duke, like most of the English nobility, received his income from agriculture. However, for several decades now, agriculture has been a heavy burden for Claiborough. Severe discipline and exhausting work were clearly not enough to cope with a declining economy. In addition, America literally flooded the English market with agricultural products. A bold, innovative approach was required. Francis Clayborough spent all his days in gambling houses, and nights - God knows where. At this time, the young stubborn heir invested in trade, in reliable London enterprises, let capital grow.
Now that time has passed. The duke did not grieve much that his profligate father had died two years ago in his bed in the arms of a young lover. The son did everything possible not to give wide publicity to this disgusting fact, which could bring great moral damage to the family.
When the young duke plunged into the affairs of his domain twelve years ago, his mother was by his side. He never ceased to be amazed at how she had been able to manage the household for the previous two decades without any help from her father.
He was annoyed because it was already too late and there were too many things planned for the coming day. In addition, if Hadrian did not get enough sleep, then he could not work fruitfully all day. Today, he thought, his time and energy were wasted.
He entered the house. Butler Woodward met him and carefully took off his cloak.
- No orders will be, Your Excellency?
"Go to bed, Woodward," the duke let him go. “And yet today was not a completely wasted day,” he thought, and his heart began to beat faster. The image of a charming gypsy did not leave my memory.
Woodward coughed. The duke paused on the stairs, looking in surprise at the butler.
“The Duchess Dowager has returned tonight, Your Excellency. - It was unexpected. I have ordered the duchess to put in order the blue room in the west wing of the house. The room is now in excellent condition, Your Excellency.
"Well done," said the duke, and, frowning, went up the stairs.
“What does a mother need here, Lord? The Dowager estate was in Derboshire. And it was not so easy to travel this distance; and if she came from London, where she also had a house, then she had to travel half a day. Of course, she did not come just to chat, something serious brought her here. But be that as it may, you will have to wait until the morning. Tomorrow ... tomorrow ... - His whole body tensed. “Will this seductive Lady Shelton drive by?” A smile appeared on his face, the first real smile he'd had all evening. But the only witness of this was a greyhound male, who wagged his tail with all his might, greeting the owner.
Clayborough undressed. He was still deeply impressed by her originality. Once again he imagined her riding a horse, naked in her bed and finally giving herself to him with unbridled gypsy passion. It was not in his nature to indulge in dreams, and, perhaps, this had never happened to him.
She was not original, but daring and reckless. He knew and deeply respected Count Dragmore. Nicholas Shelton was very much like him, the same hard and knowledgeable worker, a smart businessman. Maybe she is his daughter-in-law? Or cousin?
It is quite obvious that she is married, as she is not a young miss, and her daring manner, especially appearing unaccompanied in such a costume, only confirms his assumption. He was used to dealing with married women, they threw themselves at his feet and did absolutely everything to get into his bed. The duke led a very calm lifestyle, did not indulge in excesses and gambling, did not throw money, and he was unable to refuse only a beautiful woman. True, the initiators in such cases, as a rule, were the women themselves. A constant mistress quickly bothered him, and then he changed her to a new one. There was an opinion about him in the world as a rude womanizer, but he was indifferent to it.
It suddenly occurred to him that Lady Shelton might make an excellent lover. Not knowing her at all, he felt it. Lady Shelton interested him not for one or two nights, but for a long time.
Duchess Dowager also liked to get up very early. Isabelle de Warenne Braxton-Lowell acquired this lackey habit in the early years of her marriage, when Francis, after the death of the seventh duke, took over the inheritance. Very soon she realized that her husband did not intend to leave a dissolute lifestyle. When the bills accumulated in a monstrous amount, she hired a competent financier to determine the true state of affairs. His conclusion that the estate was falling into decay was a heavy blow for her. But the trouble does not go alone. Isabelle realized that her marriage was unsuccessful. Someone needed to run the vast duchy. And that someone was Isabelle. And the more time she devoted to this work, the more she became embittered at Francis.
It was a few minutes after seven, but Woodward was already pouring tea for her from a silver-plated teapot that belonged to the former owners of Chapman Hall and was as old and worn as the oak floors in the house. None of the Duchess Dowager's acquaintances drank tea from a silver dish with niello.
Despite the early hour, she was dressed in an elegant day ensemble in blue: a dress that emphasized her very thin waist, gathered at the back and pleated, with a bell-shaped hem and wide sleeves trimmed with mouton paws. Although she was fifty-four years old, she had the figure of a twenty-year-old woman and watched her very closely. Her face was smooth and well-groomed. Only tiny wrinkles at the corners of her lively blue eyes and characteristic lines around her mouth could give away her age. The impeccable oval of the patrician face indicated that she would not soon fade. She knew how to preserve much of her former beauty and remained very attractive.
Sapphire clip-on earrings and a diamond bracelet with amazingly beautiful sapphires harmonized with the blue silk of the dress. On her right hand was a ring with a large sapphire and two small rubies around the edges. Isabelle didn't wear wedding rings. She sighed lightly as she took them off after her husband's death.
“I thought you were already up,” said the duke, entering the room. He wore tight-fitting breeches, boots, and a loose white shirt. - Good morning, Mom. He came up and kissed his mother.
"Good morning," she replied.
The Duke sat down beside her at a large, scratched mahogany table. The mother looked attentively at her son, and great pride for him seized her. He was her only child, whom she gave birth to rather late, after seven years of marriage, when she was already twenty-four years old.
Everything about him delighted her: noble manners, courageous look, ability to carry himself with dignity and proud posture. Any mother would envy her. How honest and direct was her son, his father is just as weak and irresponsible. And she was always a little sad because her son still showed a gloomy little boy who never had a childhood.
“I venture to ask,” said the duke, as Woodward poured thick black coffee, “why have you come?”
She answered the question with a question:
How was yesterday's ball?
- As usual, a terrible boredom. The Duke grinned.
She looked at her son and wondered what that slight smirk on his face could mean. She then thanked Woodward and let him go.
- I'm worried about Elizabeth, Hadrian.
It was the name of his bride. Hadrian was silent for a moment.
- Something happened?
"You wouldn't have to ask that question if you spent a little more time with her," Isabelle replied softly.
- You see, mother, you, like no one else, know that the estate itself cannot exist without management.
- I know. Yes, your roads intersect less and less. And I also know that it worries her a lot.
The Duke's gaze hardened.
“Then I’m bad,” he finally said, “I wouldn’t cause her grief on purpose. After all, in London, she leads such a stormy social life. He was sure she was happy. It didn't even occur to me that she might miss… uh… me!
- Of course, she is happy in London and she is happy. But you are engaged. You will be married in a few months. Everyone is already talking about this.
- Is that why you came here?
- Not. I met her the day before yesterday, Hadrian. And although she pretends that everything is going as it should, it is clear that she is not feeling well.
- She is ill?
- I'm afraid so. She is very pale and has lost a lot of weight. I could not stand it and asked her directly what was the matter with her. But you know Elizabeth, she's always afraid of being a burden to anyone. Forgive her, Lord, I almost had to force the words out of her. Finally, she confessed to me that she had been very tired lately. And although she has a good appetite, every day so that she has to change dresses. I tried to persuade her to see a doctor, but she just laughs and says that everything will pass and so.
- Mom, if everything was as bad as you say, I think she would go to the doctor herself. But nevertheless, as soon as I finish my business here, and this will happen in a week or two, I will come to London and figure everything out myself. And rest assured, if treatment is needed, she will receive it.
Isabelle knew that all this would certainly be done, since there was no case yet that he did not fulfill the promise. With Elizabeth, he was always very courteous, polite and affectionate.
scandalous love Brenda Joyce
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Title: Scandalous love
About Scandalous Love by Brenda Joyce
Brenda Joyce, who wrote the world-famous novel Scandalous Love, was born in the USA but has Russian roots. Perhaps that is why it perfectly coexists with American acumen and practicality with the Russian love of risk and adventure. Being the best student of an expensive prestigious college, the future writer, without hesitation, leaves him for her first love and runs away with a brutal biker. And although this union did not last long, he gave the girl an unquenchable passion for racing motorcycles and boxing, which she has not changed for many years.
The talent for inventing extraordinary stories has lived in a girl since childhood. Brenda Joyce wrote her first story at the age of twelve, and this romantic and tragic work struck those around her with its depth and childish perception of the world. The first published novel came from the author's pen at the age of twenty-five. Since then, five short stories and more than fifty novels have been published, translated into twelve languages. All over the world, fans of exciting and dynamic plots and unusually beautiful dialogues are reading the creations of this author.
"Scandalous Love" is one of Joyce's most famous and beloved books by many readers. This is a story of extraordinary love and confrontation between two strong and bright personalities, taking place against the backdrop of a change of age-old boundaries in Puritan England.
Nicole Shelton is a wealthy heiress, a beauty and a rebel, suffocating in the shackles of decency dictated by high society. Passion, desire for freedom and new sensations lead the girl into the arms of the Duke of Clayborough, for whose heart more than one beauty is ready to fight.
The man is delighted and fascinated by Nicole's combination of innocence, courage and pressure. He is ready to enjoy such a gift of fate with pleasure, but marrying a girl is not at all included in his plans. But the duke did not take into account that the shrew was not at all going to be an obedient toy in male hands. What risky and desperate step will Nicole decide to forever become the only lover for her chosen one?
The fascinating book "Scandalous Love" will allow you to forget about problems for several evenings and escape from the monotonous despondency of gray everyday life. Brenda Joyce, with an exquisite lightness of style, will draw you into the world of exciting romantic and dramatic relationships of the main characters, make you empathize with them and wonder what the plot will be. "Scandalous Love" will undoubtedly appeal to fans of historical romance novels and admirers of the works of such "sharks" of this genre as Lisa Kleypas and Judith McNaught.
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Brenda Joyce
scandalous love
Clayborough, 1874
Loud, excited voices, happy laughter, and the solemn sounds of a string quartet resounded in the hall full of guests. All this cheerful noise reached the room, which was two floors above. There, in his bedroom, a little boy lay on a huge bed and listened to what was happening in the house. And although he was only four years old, he did not light the lamp that stood nearby. The caring nanny left the door slightly ajar, and the light from the old lamp in the corridor was enough for him. The flickering flames created silhouettes of bizarre animals and monsters on the bedroom wall, and sometimes the boy's imagination turned these creatures into people. They were women glittering with jewels and men in black tailcoats. It seemed to him that he was with them, as mature, as strong and solid as the lords, as majestic and courageous as the duke, his father. No, stronger, nobler and more courageous than his father.
The boy smiled, for a moment really feeling like an adult. But suddenly he heard them. The smile faded from his face as he sat up abruptly on the bed, trembling with excitement. They were in the corridor, next to the door to his room. His mother - her voice is soft and pleasant - spoke almost in a whisper:
I didn't expect you to come back. Let me help you.
And his father:
You seem to want to send me to bed as soon as possible.
What's the matter, Isabelle? Francis Braxton-Lowell asked sharply. - Did I upset you? Or were you afraid that I would go out to the guests and talk to them? Looks like I'm not very happy to be here.
Of course not, - calmly answered the mother.
The boy suppressed the urge to stay in bed. He quietly slid off her, made his way to the half-open door, and peered out into the corridor.
The Duke, tall, handsome, blond, unshaven, in rumpled and dirty clothes, could hardly contain his irritation. He turned sharply, nearly losing his balance, and staggered down the corridor. The Duchess, a fair-haired, strikingly beautiful and elegant woman in a pale blue dress adorned with jewels, who seemed perfect to the boy, lowered her head sadly and followed her husband.
The boy kept a close eye on them. The duke paused at the door of his room.
I don't need your help, he snapped.
Will you come down?
Are you afraid that I will embarrass you?
Of course not.
You know how to lie. Why didn't you invite me over, Isabelle?
The mother stood with her back to her son, and he did not see her face, but her voice no longer sounded as calm as before:
If you want to come down to us, why don't you clean yourself up first?
I guess I'll go down, - he answered sharply. His eyes fell on the necklace that glittered on her chest.
I recently ordered it.
Devilry! It doesn't look like glass at all!
Isabelle was silent. In the ensuing silence, his father's rapid breathing could be heard. The boy crept closer and hid behind a lacquered lectern where daily prayers were held. The Duke's eyes were ready to pop out of their sockets. Horror seized the child. Suddenly the duke tore the jewels from his mother's neck. Nearly choking, Isabelle stifled a scream. The boy rushed forward.
It's real! .. - the duke shouted. - My God, these are real diamonds! You… lying creature! You've been hiding money from me all this time, haven't you?
The Duchess stood frozen.
Yes? Where did you get the money for this? Where the hell are you!
First you rent out my land without my knowledge, and now you hide my money? the duke shouted angrily. "And you won't stop there, will you?"
How else can I save your fortune?
With surprising agility for a drunk, the duke approached his wife and with a strong blow to the face threw her against the wall.
You have always been a fraud, Isabelle, from day one of our lives. Fraudster and liar. Staggering, he was about to hit her again.
Stop it! the boy shouted, clasping his father's legs. - Don't hit her, don't hit her!
Damn you both! Francis yelled, and yet he struck his wife a second blow, which knocked her to the floor.
The boy was seized with a blind rage. He beat his father on the legs with his fists, putting all his hatred into the blows.
Francis grabbed his son like a kitten by the collar and threw him aside. The boy fell on his back, hitting his head on the floor.
You, you jerk, imagined you were a man, didn't you? Well, tomorrow you will be punished like a man. This will immediately discourage you from sticking your nose where they are not asked! Scoundrel and scammer! the duke shouted, looking down at his son.
The father left, but the words… Cruel words full of hatred and contempt remained in my memory. For some time he lay on the floor and trembled with pain and unbearable resentment. Pain squeezed his heart so that even sweat broke out on his face. Trying to cope with it, the boy tightly closed his eyes and tensed. Gradually, everything passed: the desire to cry disappeared, the pain and resentment disappeared. When the boy opened his eyes again, he saw his mother sprawled on the floor. He crawled towards her like a puppy, she raised herself on her hands and sat down. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Mom, how are you? You feel bad? he asked, and his words sounded quite grown-up.
My dear, - hugging him and crying, his mother whispered. "Your father didn't want it, believe me, he didn't!"
The mother sobbed softly. The child calmly allowed her to embrace him. And suddenly he realized everything. He realized that his mother was telling a lie, that every expression and every gesture of his father had a certain meaning, that his father hated both his mother and him.
But all this was not so important. The main thing was that tonight he had learned to endure pain and overcome fear, that he began to feel separate from the emptiness that surrounded him, and it was huge.
Dragmore, 1898
You have visitors, my lady.
But I never have visitors,” Nicole objected.
Lady Margaret Adderley and Stacy Worthington, my lady,” Aldrick announced with an impenetrable face.
Nicole was surprised. Of course, it would be an exaggeration to say that she does not have visitors: her best friend the Viscountess Searle, as well as local nobles and relatives, visit her quite often. But they don't count. She does not gather guests, like other young people of her circle. At least not in the last few years. What did this lady need, because she did not know them?
Tell them I'll be down now. Order them to serve refreshing drinks, Aldrick, - said Nicole to the butler. She was overcome with excitement.
Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Aldrick pointed to the breeches with a nod of his head and said:
Perhaps I should tell them that you will be here in a few minutes, my lady?
Nicole laughed at her masculine breeches and dirty riding boots. Although humanity was entering a new era, women did not yet wear men's clothing.
It is very good that you reminded me of this, otherwise I would not have been able to find out the reason for the visit of these ladies. If they saw me in such an outfit, they would immediately run away.
As she sorted through the dresses, Nicole reflected that her carefree attitude and sometimes inappropriate sense of humor made it difficult to communicate with people in her circle. Nicole hasn't been out for a long time. And that didn't bother her at all. She was happy in Dragmore. Detours of the estate and entertaining rides on horseback, horses, books made up her life in her native estate. She didn't want another life. Still, it's nice to be visited.
Nicole put on an undershirt, stockings, a petticoat, she hated corsets and never wore them. She was twenty-three and without shoes she was five foot ten. She decided once and for all not to tug at the waist, to make it look like she was shorter, and that she weighed only a hundred pounds, and that she was actually eighteen years old. If anyone knew about this, how many conversations there would be. People love to chat. But in this case, no one could know about it, and if they did, she would remain adamant. And it's not about convenience. Nicole read a lot, just swallowed books. She agreed with her favorite writers, who favored knickers and women's joggers over modern fashion, which they claimed was unhealthy. Corsets, like the rules of conduct, are invented by society in order to keep women in their place. For the same purpose, it invents fashion.