The Duke and the Lass by Jessie Clever

Chapter 8

Abath was just the thing.

It was all she needed to feel restored and scrape together the last of her confidence. It would most assuredly be all right. At least, that was what she thought as she brushed out her damp hair while she sat on the window bench in the duchess’s rooms overlooking Ravenwood Park sometime later.

The sun was on the cusp of the horizon and just about to sink out of sight. It was that moment when the last burst of light filled the sky, and with it, came a burst of hope.

She was safe. She was clean. And soon she hoped she would eat.

Her stomach growled as if in agreement with this thought.

She ran the brush Mrs. Collins had found for her through her hair lazily as her gaze remained fixed on the line of trees to the west, glowing bright orange and gold with the setting sun.

Tomorrow would be a new day. She would be well rested and clean, and everything would seem better.

Perhaps Ravenwood Park would have a library. Surely, she couldn’t be in the way if she kept to the library. But no. She was a duchess. There were things required of a duchess she was sure, but she hadn’t an inkling as to what they were.

Her mother had never bothered to teach her much, and her grandmother—well, they might have shared a house, but that didn’t mean they had to share their time as her grandmother had always been quick to point out.

Her stomach twisted now.

Would she be up to the task of being a duchess? She just had to be. She had no choice but to succeed. She couldn’t let Andrew down.

Perhaps there was a book on being a duchess. Her spirits lifted at the thought. That was just the thing. She’d look in the library for one tomorrow.

Feeling better already, she relaxed into the cushions along the bench and began braiding her hair for the night.

Her fingers stilled on the strands as she caught sight of her nightdress. Mrs. Collins had found that as well. It was a cast off from Ravenwood’s cook, and it had certainly been lovely once. It was worn along the edges, and the bodice sported a spray of frills that only served to accentuate her already exorbitant bosom. It was also too short. It ended somewhere in the middle of her calves and was entirely indecent. However, it had no holes and was free of sap, so Della would not complain.

But she would hide in her room until more suitable clothing could be found.

She would not let Andrew see her like this. Not that she thought she was in danger of seeing him.

Her eyes drifted about the room.

The duchess’s rooms.

They were beautifully appointed with delicate rosewood furniture and thick, luxurious trappings in a deep navy, accented with sprigs of rose and honey. It was the nicest room she’d ever been in. Her grandmother had made sure Della occupied the smallest guest room in Bewcastle, and she had been fortunate the room had a single window and a bed. The duchess’s rooms were sinful luxury in comparison.

She hopped down from the window seat and returned the brush to the dressing table, pausing to skim her fingers over the glossy surface of the fine wood. The slender legs tapered from the base until they spilled into fine arches along the floor, and she traced the line of it down the edge of the table front.

She stopped when her fingers encountered the slightest variation in the wood and bent to examine it. The leg had been repaired. Had she not touched the wood, she never would have known. It was expertly fabricated. She ran her fingers over it again. How sad to think such a gorgeous table had seen such damage at one point. Whoever had fixed it must possess extraordinary skill to hide such a flaw.

She backed up to look at it more closely. No, she wouldn’t have been able to tell had she not touched it.

She moved to touch the mended piece again when a sharp knock sounded on the door. Before she could bid the person enter, the door was thrown open.

“I assure you, Your Grace, I was able to find a suitable nightdress for Her Grace, and I’ve already sent a note down to the seamstress in the village that a fitting will be required first thing tomorrow.”

Della had thought Mrs. Collins was beautiful, but the woman who entered with her was far more beautiful, and Della’s stomach dropped to her toes.

This woman was of moderate stature, but she held herself with a loftiness Della could only aspire to. Her warm dark hair was swept back to reveal full features, delicate brows, and a warm smile.

A smile just like Andrew’s.

Della reached out to the table beside her, forgetting her tin of shortbreads had been lost.

“You must be Della!” the woman said without preamble and swept Della into an embrace that threatened to cut off her air.

It was glorious.

Unshed tears stung the backs of her eyes in an instant. Della had never felt the force of such…what was it? Kinship? Friendship? Neither seemed possible as she’d never met this woman before and yet, there they were.

This was Andrew’s sister. She knew that without a proper introduction. The word played over and over again in her head. Was this what it was like to have a sibling? This unconditional response of love and acceptance?

The woman backed up enough to study Della’s face. Della wanted to shrink under the scrutiny, but she raised her chin and waited.

The woman seemed to come to some kind of conclusion because she shook her head satisfactorily.

“I’m Johanna. I’m sure my brother has failed to mention me, but I’ve brought gowns.” She gestured behind her to a maid whose arms overflowed with gowns.

The maid gave a small smile as if it were every day her mistress barged into the bedchamber of a woman she didn’t know, and at nightfall, no less.

Johanna touched Della’s arm and leaned in conspiratorially. “I heard you were forced to leave in a hurry. I do hope nothing of value to you was lost.”

Della thought of her Melanie Merkett novel but shook her head.

Johanna squeezed her arm. “That’s at least something. Come. Let’s see if any of these will work.”

The maid had laid the gowns atop the bed and was in the process of spreading them out.

Della eyed the pile with mounting doubt. “Lady—er, I’m sorry. I don’t know—” Had Andrew said she was a duchess?

“Johanna,” the other woman returned with delicate force and a snap of her chin, forgoing any mention of titles.

“Johanna,” Della said, even though she didn’t feel quite comfortable using the woman’s given name considering the brevity of their relationship. “My underthings were all taken to be laundered.” Della slid a glance toward Mrs. Collins.

Johanna only waved a hand. “I thought as much. I’ve brought underthings as well.”

A second maid appeared, and Della wondered if she’d been there the entire time.

This maid presented a basket, and setting it atop the small bench at the foot of the bed, slipped the top free to reveal an assortment of underthings. Fine linen chemises, bountiful crinolines, and even two corsets.

Della looked around for a dressing screen, but she knew there wasn’t one. When Mrs. Collins had shown her to the rooms earlier, she had left immediately so Della could undress. Johanna seemed to not carry the same notions of propriety.

“I think we should try the peach first.” Johanna pointed to a peach day gown the first maid had unearthed from the pile. “I think this corset might fit you best. I had only Andrew’s description of you to go off, and you know how obtuse men can be.”

Della had only ever truly interacted with her father, grandfather, and Andrew, so she wasn’t much of an expert on the subject, but she nodded as if to agree with Johanna.

Johanna held up the corset in question but soon she shook her head.

“No, this won’t do at all.” She dropped her arms. “I suppose Andrew wasn’t flattering you with his description.”

The breath caught in her lungs. She swallowed and drew in enough air to say, “Andrew’s description?”

Johanna’s smile was immediate and full. “Oh yes. Andrew has always been good about details, and I should have trusted him on this one. He compared you to the statue of Hera our father commissioned for our mother that sits in the folly in the garden of Ravenwood’s London home.”

Della tried to scramble through those words, but only one thing stood out. “Andrew compared me to a…statue?”

Johanna had been puzzling over a set of crinolines but looked up at this, her eyes lit with a secret joy Della couldn’t discern.

“Oh yes. It’s a gorgeous statue of voluptuous proportions. Our father had it commissioned as my mother’s wedding gift. It’s striking and beautiful and magnificent, and I can see exactly why Andrew should compare you to it.”

Striking.

Beautiful.

Magnificent.

The words fell through her mind like a waterfall, tumbling one over the other so she could make out none at all. She was flooded with a lightness that left her dizzy, and when she finally blinked back to her senses, Johanna had wrapped a corset around her over her nightdress.

“I hardly think this will do, but it will help us get an idea of the right shape for you. I would hate to diminish your natural features.” Johanna popped around the side of Della from where she was holding the corset together at Della’s back. “I bet you would look stunning in a bodice fitted with a sweetheart neckline.”

Stunning?

Perhaps she was overly tired. She hadn’t slept in a bed for two days. Maybe it was exhaustion clouding her faculties.

A squeezing sensation that had nothing to do with nerves started around her midsection, and she realized Johanna was attempting to tie the corset.

Della’s hands flew to her stomach where her fingers encountered the sharp boning of the corset. She traced the ridges only to find a spot where the stitches had frayed.

“Johanna, I’m not sure—”

She tugged with greater ferocity, and Della had to dig her bare feet into the carpet to keep upright.

“I’m sure with just a little more adjustment we can get it tied.”

Johanna gave another tug, and the first sound of a stitch ripping had Della peering down at her torso. Her fingers trailed over the frayed seams, but it seemed to be holding tight.

“Johanna, it really isn’t a bother—”

“Your things are not likely to be dry by morning, and I will not have you be forced to attend the seamstress in your nightdress. We will make this work.”

The determination in the other woman’s voice had Della snapping her lips shut.

Mrs. Collins came around the bed and joined Johanna at Della’s back.

“Perhaps if we pulled it tighter through here,” Mrs. Collins offered.

The air whooshed from Della’s lungs at the next tug, and dark spots clouded her vision. She sucked in a breath, but it was scant and useless. The light around her continued to dim.

“Almost got it now,” Johanna sang.

Della knew she was close, but her voice sounded so far away, as if she were in a tunnel somewhere deep underground.

There was a final tug, and Della stepped back with the force of it.

“Ah ha!” Johanna cried from behind her. “I knew we would get it.”

That was the last thing Della heard before she fainted.

* * *

He didn’t bother knocking.

The sound of frantic voices coming from within the duchess’s rooms was enough to have him charging through the door. The scene he discovered there was enough to send his blood cold.

Della was unconscious on the floor. His sister straddled her, her hands tearing at what appeared to be a corset, but if that was what it was, he couldn’t understand why it was so tight. It had turned Della’s sinfully voluptuous body into a contorted monstrosity.

But if it were a corset that was cinched that tightly…

“Move.” He shoved his sister out of the way and leaned over Della, his hands going to the edge of the corset, but the damned thing didn’t budge even when he gave it all he had. “What the hell were you thinking?” He hated the menace in his voice, especially as it was directed at his littlest sister, but something unnatural gripped him, something he’d never felt before.

He had to get the damned corset off. Della wasn’t breathing. She wasn’t breathing. Fear seized him. His hands shook as he scrambled to gain purchase, and he was gripped by the sudden need to see her eyes, those blue, blue eyes that put the sky itself to shame.

“Watch out, mate.”

Someone pushed at his shoulder, but he wouldn’t have moved if hell itself licked at his boots.

“Andrew.”

He stirred at his best friend’s firm tone, and somehow, he managed to sit back, allowing Ben access.

In a single fluid motion, his friend knelt swiftly and drew a knife from his boot. Bringing it forward, he sliced neatly through the top of the corset. Ben moved with such deftness only the top of the corset split, leaving Della completely untouched. The tear was enough that the delicate fabric tore apart, the sound of ripping cloth piercing the sudden quiet in the room.

Della’s lips parted softly, and he could hear her draw air into her lungs. This was immediately followed by a torrent of coughing, and he lunged forward, pulling her into his arms to help her sit up and breathe.

“Easy, darling. Easy. It’s all right now.” He brushed the hair from her face, ran his knuckles down the soft skin of her cheek. He had to touch her. He was overwhelmed with the need to do so and yet held himself back, cradling her until he was sure she was breathing properly. “Open your eyes, Della. I need to see your eyes.”

She blinked, and he caught sight of that hypnotic blue. She seemed to register his face, and her eyelids slid shut on a groan. He could only sympathize.

He looked up to where his sister knelt on the other side of Della, her fingers speared through her hair as she held her hands pressed to her head.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He prided himself on how well modulated he kept his tone, but then he registered his sister’s face. “Do you have a black eye?”

The skin around her left eye was a mottled purple hue outlined in red.

She dropped her hands. “I tried to catch her, and the crown of her head hit me in the eye.”

The laugh came immediately, and he tried very hard to suppress it. It came out as not much more than a snort, but Johanna folded her arms defensively across her chest.

She looked to her husband. “Is it truly a laughable matter? Della could have died.”

Ben slid his knife back in his boot. “Yes, but you can’t see your face. You would be laughing too.” He hid his own laugh behind a trembling smile.

“Oh bollocks, I’m so sorry.”

They all looked down at the sound of the raspy words to find Della quite awake, her gaze fixated on Johanna’s face and likely the blackening eye.

Johanna touched the skin around her eye gingerly. “Is it so very bad? I shall have to write to Viv immediately. It may send her into convulsions.” Her grin was entirely mischievous.

Della struggled to sit up, but Andrew tightened his arms around her.

“Hang on now. Just rest and breathe. How do you feel?”

“Embarrassed.” The word came out slightly stronger than the last ones, and he felt a flood of relief.

Johanna laughed. “Why should you be embarrassed? I made my new sister faint. How is that for a first impression?”

Della’s lips had parted as if she wished to speak again, but her mouth shut abruptly at Johanna’s words.

“I think it gives a clear understanding of just what I had warned her about,” Andrew said.

Johanna’s eyes widened. “Excuse me? Warned her about?” She put fisted hands to her hips. “Just what precisely must you warn her about?”

“The Darby sisters,” Ben said dryly from beside them.

“Exactly,” Andrew agreed.

Johanna pushed to her feet. “There is no warning required. We are quite lovely people.” She cast her gaze down at Della. “Except for the minor near-death occurrences we may cause.” She brushed her hands together as if it were every day she caused such a debacle.

Andrew slid his gaze to his best friend. “That’s a rather interesting thing to carry in your boot.” He raised an eyebrow in question.

Ben cast a glance at his wife. “And it’s not the first time I’ve had to use it in my wife’s presence.”

“I thought not.” Andrew frowned.

Mrs. Collins appeared then, although Andrew had a vague sense she had been in the room when everything occurred. But now she knelt before Della with a cup of tea.

“Drink slowly, Your Grace. This will help set you to rights.” She met Andrew’s gaze. “We should get her into the bed, Your Grace.”

Reflexively his arms tightened around her, unwilling to let her go. He knew it was probably best though and loosened his grip long enough for Mrs. Collins to take Della’s elbow. He kept his arms around her as Della gained her feet, and when she swayed, he tucked her under his arm. It was only a couple of feet to the bed, otherwise he would have insisted on carrying her. As it was, he didn’t wish to cause her further embarrassment, as unfounded as it was.

Mrs. Collins pushed him out of the way as she and a couple of maids took to tucking Della in and plying her with tea and small biscuits. Johanna flopped on the other side of the bed and set to chattering straight away, asking if she were all right.

“I think it’s probably best to allow Della to get some rest. She’s had a rather taxing couple of days.” Andrew attempted to drill a hole into the back of his sister’s head with his glare, and it seemed to work since she pivoted to face him.

“You couldn’t expect me to wait when you sent word you brought home a wife. We’ve waited ages to have another sister. I couldn’t possibly have held off my visit until tomorrow.”

Andrew looked at Ben, but his friend was carefully avoiding making eye contact.

Andrew supposed the man could not be blamed.

“Besides, I couldn’t let her go without clothing, Andrew. Even you can understand what a handicap that would be.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I can see how that would be difficult.”

“If you had given her time to pack a bag…” Johanna let her words trail off.

“There was no time to pack a bag. That’s inherent in the means in which we left.”

Ben stepped between them and raised a friendly hand in Della’s direction.

“Hello, I’m Ben.” He leaned over Mrs. Collins’s shoulder to allow Della to see him. “I’m married to her.” He pointed to Johanna. “And best friends with your husband.” He pointed over his shoulder as if Della had never met Andrew. “I’m terribly sorry about all of this, but there’s no reason to worry. You have tremendous allies in the lot of us who have the unfortunate ability to say we married into this bunch.”

Johanna reached over Della to punch her husband in the shoulder. Ben’s smile never faltered.

Della’s lips turned up into a tentative smile. “It’s very nice to meet you. I look forward to meeting the others.”

Ben straightened and looked back at Andrew. “She’s a rather brave one, isn’t she? The first sister tries to kill her, and yet she’s still game for meeting the rest. Well done, Andrew.”

“Just ignore them,” Johanna said, patting Della’s knee. “Everything will be fine. You’re a Darby now, and we take care of our own. Just rest, and I’ll be back in the morning, and we’ll set everything to rights.”

Johanna hopped from the bed. Only then did Andrew realize there was a smattering of gowns about the room as well as underthings scattered here and there. He wasn’t sure exactly what had transpired, but he felt a pang of guilt for Della.

It had been a trying couple of days, and her world had been upended so completely without her permission. And then he’d accidentally sicced his sister on her. He was turning out to be a terrible husband.

But more than that, he felt the knot in his stomach tighten. He had been so fraught with worry over protecting her from her father, he had never thought to be concerned about what his own family might do to her.

He knew the image of her unconscious on the floor would haunt him forever.

He turned to the door as Johanna and Ben made their way out of the room. They said their goodbyes to Della, and Andrew followed them into the hall, shutting the door softly behind them.

They were several steps down the hall before Johanna turned on him.

“She’s wonderful.” Her eyes shone with excitement.

“You hardly know her.”

Johanna shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I can already tell I like her.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “And how is that exactly?”

She poked him in the shoulder. “Because you like her.”

He dropped his arms. “Johanna, I already explained. This wasn’t—”

“You of all people should know by now it’s not how something starts that matters. It’s how it ends.”

Andrew cast his gaze between his sister and his best friend, the truth of her words seeping deep into his bones. A curl of doubt found its way into the knot in his stomach, and he couldn’t help but wonder.

What if he let himself fall in love with Della?

It wasn’t as if it were impossible. He couldn’t deny the consuming attraction he felt for her, and he had already admitted he liked her. It was hard not to. Della had an intrinsic ability to see the good in everything when all the evidence suggested she’d lived a neglected life. A person with innate good was irresistible. If only he weren’t sworn to protect her.

“I will keep your words under advisement.”

Johanna scoffed a laugh and shook her head. “You were always the stubborn one, Andrew.”

He wrinkled his brow. “I am not. Viv’s the stubborn one.”

Johanna reared back. “You think Viv’s the stubborn one?”

“Of course she is.” He looked to Ben. “Isn’t Viv the stubborn one?”

Ben held up both hands. “I’m not getting mixed up in this. It’s enough being an innocent victim here.”

He walked away in the direction of the stairs. Andrew made to follow, but his sister placed a hand on his arm.

“Andrew. Listen to me. I know I’m just your little sister, but believe it or not, I have something important to say.”

He stilled, realizing for perhaps the first time that his little sister had grown up. She was married now and in charge of a household all her own. He knew firsthand the things she’d accomplished at Raeford Court to bring the old estate back to life, and he’d personally witnessed the lengths she would go to, to save the things she loved most.

Right then he felt like one of them, which left an uncomfortable weight on his chest.

“It’s all right to let go sometimes and just let yourself be. You don’t always need to take care of everyone.”

“I don’t take care of everyone,” he said automatically.

Johanna dropped her hand and shook her head.

“You do, Andrew. You take care of all of us.” Her eyes drifted over his shoulder to the door to the duchess’s rooms. “But I think you might be surprised to find your wife doesn’t require someone to take care of her.”

She didn’t say anything more. With a final squeeze of his arm, she left him standing there in the corridor, leaving him to wonder at a great many things.