Page 39 of The Disgraceful Duchess

A waiter rushed forward to help with the chair. But Townley had already flung himself into it, looking sweaty despite the cool morning air. He wore a fashionable fawn-colored morning jacket, a blue and yellow spotted silk neckcloth, and green and cream striped trousers.“Well, well, well. Do you know, I wondered if I might find you here.”

“Or in other words, you followed me.”

Townley shrugged. “You make it sound so sordid. I am only lately arrived in the Pearl of the Adriatic! It is quite natural that I am doing some sightseeing.” He mopped at his face with a handkerchief. “But then I saw you, and I thought that you might wish to hear what I have to say.”

“You thought wrong. I have nothing to say to you. Please leave.”

“Now, now.” Smirking, Townley held up a hand. A waiter appeared with coffee. “There is no need to fly up into the boughs. After all, we were friends once—were we not? Indeed, I feel that it is my duty to tell you what is being said.”

“If you have come here with gossip about her grace, Townley, I warn you”—

“Her grace?” Townley put on a look of exaggerated surprise. “No, no! I speak of the country’s political situation. You must be aware that I am under consideration for a cabinet position. When I tell you what is being said, you may be certain that it is coming from”—he gave a little cough— “some of the highest levels of government. And those levels are concerned by reports that you have chosen to align yourself with a rag-tag group led by Sir Anthony Childs—of all people.”

West had never even met with Sir Anthony’s group. How did Townley know about it? “I do not care to discuss my views with you, Townley. Does not a man as important as you have better things to do than come all the way to Venice merely to talk in riddles?”

Townley’s face reddened. ““As I have already told you, I am sightseeing. And I am doing you a favor. You would do well to heed my warning.”

West took another sip of coffee. “Oh—is it a warning? I thought that it was merely advice.”

Townley turned even deeper red. “You mock me. I see. Well, then I shall speak plain: Radical agitators are organizing public meetings and influencing the common, uneducated people to be discontented with their lot. If you—a duke—appear to sympathize with their Jacobean notions, you set a bad example. Do I make myself clear enough for you?”

“A bad example?” West snorted. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered that Pomona had just warned him about ridiculing Townley. But the temptation was too great. “Why, no one has said that about me at least since Harrow.”

“You will look back on this day and regret your behavior." Townley was breathing heavily. "That I promise you.”

“Oh dear. I do hope not.” West rose. “Well. I am afraid that I must be going, Townley. I am on honeymoon, after all. But since we are giving each other advice, I shall remind you that a man who is truly convinced of the merits of his position has no need to make threats. Good day.”

Townley shoved back his chair and rose as well. He was breathing hard. “Oh yes. Your honeymoon.” His voice was a snarl. “With the Alford chit—the bluestocking who is no better than she should be! But the joke is on you. You have not the slightest idea what the duchess is doing under your very nose.”

West didn’t stop to think. He seized Townley by the lapels of his ridiculous jacket. “Withdraw those remarks. And if I ever hear you so much as speak my wife’s name again, you will answer for it. Do you understand me?”

Townley’s face was maroon with rage. “I withdraw my remarks,” he finally muttered.

“Good.”

He let him go. Townley snatched his hat and gloves off the table and stormed out of the cafe.

West glanced around. Several waiters were flattened against the wall, clutching their trays against their chests. He fished about in his pocket for several lire, and left a very large tip.

Even walking couldn’t calm him immediately. In fact, he was so blind with fury that he was halfway back to the palazzo before he began to notice his surroundings again. He paused on the little bridge. The boatbuilder was now standing next to one of the beached gondolas, slapping its hull for emphasis every so often, deep in discussion with another man.

West took a deep breath. Life was continuing. Townley was a ridiculous man. Yes, it was intolerable that he’d been buttonholed by him while he was simply enjoying a coffee. On the other hand, it proved that he was right: It was time to leave Venice for somewhere more exclusive. He would inform Pomona of his decision as soon as he returned.

But then Townley’s words floated into his head: You have not the slightest idea what the duchess is doing under your very nose.

What had he meant by that? Was it possible that he knew something that West didn’t? Who was saying what?

He frowned. Pomona’s long hours shut in the library… the papers that he wasn't allowed to see… her odd questions about tunnels… her obviously false story about wishing to paint watercolors… She’d never actually told him what she was doing. And now, despite his order to the servants, gossip had spread outside the household. And Townley apparently knew more about all of it than he did. Which was intolerable.

He’d promised not to ask her about her work. But... perhaps he ought to make certain that she wasn’t involved in anything dangerous.

Chapter Fifteen

Pomona set down her quill. Her argument with West had left a cold knot in the pit of her stomach, and she’d tossed and turned all night. But the habit of working was so ingrained in her now that she’d risen early and arrived at her desk ready to work anyway.

And today, for the first time, she thought that this book might be… done.

She read over the manuscript with a rising excitement. She forgot her tiredness, her aching head, and her anxiety, and simply let herself be transported by the story. She could scarcely remember writing half of these pages. And she thought that she liked them.