Free The Desirable Duchess by MC Beaton

nothing.”
    “If that were my bird,” said Lord Werford, puffing out his cheeks in anger, “I would have him shot. Shot on the spot, ma’am.”
    The mynah began to laugh, swinging backward and forward on its perch, a devilish laugh, a laugh from hell. Oh, dear, thought Alice, who now knew all the members of her husband’s large staff. That must be Evans. Evans was one of the housemaids, quick and efficient at her work but possessed of a really evil laugh. Alice had heard that laugh once-sounding up from the servants’ quarters—and had asked the butler, Hoskins, who on earth was possessed of a laugh like that.
    Lord Werford strutted up to the cage. “Be quiet,” he roared.
    “Shan’t, shan’t, shan’t,” shouted the mynah. Lord Werford backed away and crossed himself.
    Mrs. Tembil’s spoiled brat of a child, thought Alice, remembering a painful visit by a society matron. “The bird is not speaking to you, Lord Werford. It is merely stringing together odd phrases. Now may I offer you some refreshment?”
    Oracle fell mercifully silent while Alice entertained Lord Werford and his son with cakes and wine. Mrs. Duggan chattered on about this and that and Alice was glad of it, as father and son studied her the whole time in an unnerving way; she was glad when the couple at last rose to leave.
    Percy asked her to go driving with him and, when Alice explained that the afternoon was going to be taken up with fittings, he made a very long and embarrassing speech about the folly of gilding the lily, until his father edged him toward the door.
    “Goodness!” said Alice when they had left. “The next time they call, I hope Ferrant is at home.”
    The duke paused on his way out that evening. “Hoskins,” he said, “have there been any callers on the duchess today?”
    “Yes, Your Grace. Lord Werford and the Honorable Percy.”
    “The deuce! What did that old fool want?”
    “His Lordship wished to present his compliments to the duchess.”
    “Indeed! Anyone else?”
    “Mrs. Duggan and then the dressmaker, Madame Duval.”
    “And that is all?”
    “All that Her Grace would receive.”
    “You interest me. Whom would she not receive?”
    “Sir Gerald Warby, Your Grace.”
    “Thank you, Hoskins. That will be all.”
    So, thought the duke as he walked out to his carriage, his little bride was behaving just as she ought. He thought of the evening ahead and felt uncomfortable. He had enjoyed his light flirtation with Lady Macdonald, had even, just recently, toyed with the idea of divorcing Alice and marrying her instead. But at the opera, Lady Macdonald had begun to assume a proprietorial air that he did not like.
    He had to admit that the wantonness of her dress, which had so charmed him, had begun to appear vulgar. And yet when he called at her home to escort her to the ball, the very respectability of her gown on this occasion alarmed him. Lady Macdonald was already beginning to behave as if she were the duchess, rather than Alice. Instead of feeling in control of things, instead of feeling he was punishing Alice, he felt very much in the wrong, very much like just another London roué hell-bent on shaming his wife. But none of these disturbing thoughts showed through the polite mask of his face.
    He reflected bitterly that since he had become a duke, he had become used to thinking that everything that he did was above censure, and he had been helped in that, he thought, by London society, who toadied to him quite dreadfully. And so he was taking his mistress to an old friend’s daughter’s ball, and, up until that moment, had not thought much about the enormity of his behavior. He had been so hurt by Alice, so humiliated. He had treated her like glass during their engagement, never pressing kisses or embraces on her. Edward and Lucy were to be at the Taylors this evening—Edward, who had asked him not to do anything so tactless as to introduce Lady Macdonald to Lucy, “for she’s in a delicate