The Wyndham Legacy (Legacy 1)

Badger looked at the Duchess, but she merely smiled that cool, aloof smile of hers. “Go along with Sampson. His lordship can’t very well slit my throat in his library.”

She walked quietly into the huge intimidating room. Marcus stood behind his desk. He didn’t move when he saw her standing in the doorway, merely said, “You came.”

She nodded. “I had to. I wrote you that.”

“Yes, to be a Wyndham of Wyndham, you had to show your face here before January 1, 1814. But that makes no sense. You are either legitimate or you’re not. You are not without sense, Duchess. There is more, isn’t there?”

She wouldn’t tell him the rest of it, tell him the real reason she was here. She couldn’t serve him such a blow. She would let Mr. Wicks do it. She simply raised her chin, saying nothing.

Marcus grunted, threw down the sheaf of papers in his right hand, and came around the massive desk. “Congratulations on the marriage of your father and your mother.”

“Thank you. I only wish I had known, just a clue, perhaps before—”

“Well, now you do and you’re home where you belong. It’s nearly Christmas. I plan to take the Twins and Spears out to cut a Yule log for the drawing room. Would you care to accompany us?”

He saw, perhaps for the first time since he’d known her, a leap of something very excited in her blue eyes, then it was gone, and she was nodding coolly, saying, “Thank you, Marcus. You are very kind. I apologize for being here, in advance, truly, I’m sorry if my now being legitimate is distressful to you.”

He said, his voice harsh, “Nonsense, Chase Park is now your home, just as it is mine. If you hadn’t been such a stubborn twit, you would have been living here for the past six months instead of—” He broke off, shook his head, then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he said, “How did you earn money to keep that damned snug little cottage? And what about that very nice crystal?”

“When would you like to cut that Yule log?”

“In an hour,” he said, looking at her white neck, his fingers clenching and unclenching. This gown was stylish, a pale cream muslin, the neckline not to her chin, but lower, just giving a hint of her bosom, which looked quite enticing to him. “Dress warmly and wear stout boots. Do you have warm clothes and stout boots?”

“No, I fancy I will have to wear only my shift and a pair of slippers. I have sufficient clothing, Marcus. Don’t worry. You aren’t my guardian. Also, I pray you won’t forget that you have only five years on me. In short, cousin Marcus, we are both quite young and indeed, too young to beset each other.”

“What the hell does that mean? You’re still eighteen. I will very likely be appointed your guardian—despite my meager number of years—so I advise you, Duchess, not to raise the level of my ire any further.”

“Your ire, Marcus, is of no concern to me. I’m here because I must be here. There is nothing more to it. And I now am nineteen.”

“And will you deign to remain?”

She gave him a small smile, an infuriating small smile, turned, and left the library. She didn’t close the door. He heard Mrs. Emory saying with surely too-great exuberance, “Hello, Duchess, and welcome! Oh, excuse me, miss, it’s Lady Duchess now. Let me take you to your room. The earl has assigned you the Princess Mary Chamber, and very lovely it is, you remember, of course.”

“Of course,” the Duchess said. “I remember it quite well. It is kind of his lordship to select such a superior accommodation for me.”

5

THERE WAS SOMETHING to be said for a Christmas at home in the bosom of one’s family, Marcus thought, as he sipped the warm nutmeg-tart mulled wine, felt the heat from the burning Yule log upon his face. He turned then to look at his assembled family. His last Christmas had been spent around a campfire with fifty of his men, shivering in the Galician hills, wondering if the new year would bring them into battle and into death.

He realized that he hadn’t bought a gift for the Duchess, not that she deserved it. Well, he had time, still five days until Christmas. Tomorrow, his uncle’s solicitor from London would arrive. He frowned, wondering what else his uncle could have done. Legitimizing the Duchess was a fine thing, he had no argument with that, though he realized quickly that Aunt Gweneth now looked at her a good deal differently. He couldn’t imagine why she would disapprove of the newly bona fide lady and approve of the bastard. Odd, that.

Aunt Gweneth said, “Duchess, Marcus told us that you were living in Smarden, in Pipwell Cottage, with a man. Really, my dear, such a thing is most peculiar and leaves your reputation open to slurs, given your unfortunate antecedents.”

The Duchess smiled a very small but pleasant smile, those long narrow hands of hers quiet in her lap. “I have never believed my antecedents to be unfortunate, ma’am, merely difficult in this tender society.”

“Nonetheless, you have had a man living with you.”

“Yes, his name is Badger, and he was my butler and my chef. He’s a remarkable man. Actually he still is my, er, valet.”

“Still, it is not at all what one would expect from a lady,” Aunt Gweneth said, but Marcus, horrified at how prissy and prudish she sounded, and realizing that he must have sounded exactly the same way, interrupted swiftly, saying, “It makes no more difference, Aunt. The Duchess is here now. Nothing more need be said about it.”

“But that man accompanied her here.”

“Yes,” the Duchess said calmly, then remained quiet, sipping at her mulled wine. “Perhaps Cook should speak to Badger, for his mulled wine is the best I have ever tasted. He has secret ingredients he won’t tell anyone about. I remember my mother used to plead with him, telling him that she could sell the recipe and make us all rich. He laughed and nodded, but refused to tell her.”

“I can vouch for Badger’s culinary expertise, Aunt Gweneth.”

“Dear Marcus, the man lived with the mother and then with the daughter. He speaks the most beautiful English. Surely you cannot allow a man with such pretensions to influence the household. Why he apes his betters, and it isn’t the done thing, Marcus. And she says he’s still her valet? Her valet? That is utterly preposterous, unbelievable, and you, as the head of the family, surely can’t allow it to continue. I don’t want to see the Wyndham name swimming into any more disrepute than it already swims.”