The Wyndham Legacy (Legacy 1)

“No you shouldn’t. I believe, actually, that he informed me that he would be spending the evening and night with his mistress. You know, Badger, the one who has the pretty name and isn’t, according to Spears, a harpy.”

“He wouldn’t! That’s . . . why that’s—”

“He is quite remarkably upset with me. As for your part and Spears’s part, I believe that will blow over. I am beginning to realize that his lordship is like a short-lived typhoon. Quick to rage and quick to a smile.”

Badger wasn’t so sure about that, but he just shrugged, saying, “Do you believe he will return here tonight?”

“I doubt it. I told him I would be leaving for London on Friday.”

“Will he be willing to accept your gift to him?”

She said nothing, merely turned and lifted the heavy gold brocade drapery and gazed out onto the street. “He has no choice; at least I could do that much for him. But he doesn’t appear to see it that way. He just kept saying that he didn’t want the damned earldom.”

“That could present a problem, Duchess.”

“Oh? Whatever do you mean, Badger?”

“Annulment.”

She looked puzzled, then her brow cleared. “I understand. Forgive me for being so slow. I read about it in the London Gazette, a certain Lord Havering annulled the marriage of his daughter to a Major Bradley.”

“Do you know what it means, Duchess?”

“It means that Marcus can cancel out our marriage? That it can all be undone?”

“That’s what it means, but it isn’t possible if he, well, if you and he consummate your marriage.”

No betraying flush rose on her cheeks. Her expression remained contained. She said only, “Oh, dear. That could present a problem, couldn’t it?”

“Aye, if his lordship thinks about it, if he realizes he can annul the marriage, both Spears and I fear he would act before he realized what he was doing. Men who feel betrayed will do stupid things. Actually, with his lordship, I should say he can’t stand not to be in control. So for him this is beyond betrayal since it hits at the heart of what he sees himself to be.”

“Oh dear,” she said again. “You are doubtless right, Badger. Oh dear.” She rose and shook out her skirts of pale yellow muslin. “Another plan then. But first things first, Badger. You know where Lisette lives?”

“Yes,” Badger said, eyeing her closely. “Her full name is Lisette DuPlessis.”

“Good,” the Duchess said and left the drawing room.

The narrow building set in a lovely residential neighborhood on the Rue Varenne looked inviting, the Duchess thought. At least it must look very inviting to Marcus, and inviting enough to Lisette since she agreed to let Marcus have her live there. Since it was early summer, the trees were thick and full, shading the street. She nodded to Badger, saw that he would argue, and repeated, “No, you will remain here. Stand under that oak tree yon and look French.”

He blinked, saw that elusive smile of hers, and stepped back to lean against the tree trunk.

A very homely young maid answered her knock. She believed I would be a gentleman, probably Marcus, the Duchess thought, as she nodded and held out her visiting card.

“I would like to see your mistress, please,” she said. Mistress, she thought, smiling inside, how very apt language was upon occasion.

The young woman gave a mighty frown, eyed the Duchess carefully, then tossed a head of remarkably fine blond hair. She left the Duchess standing on the doorstep.

She stepped inside a small entrance hall, closing the door behind her. The maid didn’t look back. In front of her a narrow staircase rose to the second floor, then wound up to a third. She heard women’s voices speaking rapid French. She sat down on a single chair in the entrance hall and folded her hands in her lap, and waited, something she was very good at doing.

Five more minutes passed. She heard more conversation, something about changing clothing. The Duchess wondered if Lisette were wearing something very alluring. She trusted Marcus wouldn’t show up on the doorstep while she was here.

Lisette was more or less what she expected. She was young, quite well formed in the bosom, appeared to have a waist the size of two male fists pressed together, and didn’t boast all that many inches in height. The impression was one of innocence and the knowledge of Eve, surely a potent combination. The Duchess then saw the wary look in

her dark eyes.

“Oui?” she said, coming slowly down the stairs. She was wearing a frock that didn’t shout her profession, at least to the Duchess’s eye. It was a soft dark blue muslin, banded with a lighter blue ribbon beneath her breasts.

The Duchess rose and smiled and said in passable French, “My name is Josephina Wyndham, Lady Chase. May I speak to you for a moment?”