Eleven Scandals to Start to Win a Duke's Heart
Page 22
He went still under the wave of anger that coursed through him at the sneering, disdainful words. There was nothing disgraceful about Juliana. She was beautiful and brilliant and, yes, perhaps too bold at times, but she was marvelous. And he wanted to toss his mother out for saying otherwise.
His knuckles whitened around the crystal tumbler. “I will not hear you speak so about the lady.”
The duchess’s eyes narrowed on him. “I had not known that you held Miss Fiori in such high regard.” He did not miss the correction to Juliana’s title. When he remained quiet, she added, a wealth of cool understanding in her tone, “Do not tell me you want the girl.”
He did not speak. Did not look to his mother. “I see you do.” There was a long pause, then, “She is nothing, Leighton. No name, no breeding, nothing to recommend her except a thread of a relation to Ralston, who is barely respectable himself now that their scandalous mother has returned. My goodness, we’re not even certain that she is who she says! The rumors have begun again that she is illegitimate. Not even a connection to Allendale and Rivington will save that family’s reputation now . . .” The duchess leaned forward and steeled her tone. “She is so far beneath you, she’s barely good enough to take to mistress.”
Rage coursed through him. Yes, there had been a time when he had suggested Juliana would make a good mistress himself, but it was long ago, long before he had come to see . . .
How remarkable she was.
The duchess continued, boredom in her tone. “Look elsewhere to warm your bed, Leighton. You can find someone with increased . . . worth.”
He took in the hateful words, let them wash over him.
And realized that he would never find anyone with such worth as Juliana.
He would never have her. But, by God, he would not allow her be maligned.
“Get out.” The words were reserved, and he was impressed with his control.
Her eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?” There was a thread of outrage in her tone.
“You heard me.”
She did not move. “Leighton. Really. There’s no need for such dramatics. Since when have you become so pedestrian?”
“There’s nothing pedestrian about it. I’ve had enough of you tonight, Mother. You have received what you want. I am marrying Lady Penelope—she of impeccable reputation and immense worth. I’ve had enough of doing your bidding for the time being.”
The duchess stood, pulling herself up to her full, stoic height. “You will remember that I am your mother, Leighton, and due the respect of the station.”
“And you will remember that I am duke, Mother, and the time is long past during which I took my marching orders from you. Go home, before I say something I will regret.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, neither backing down until there was a soft knock on the door to the library.
Was this night never to end?
Simon spun away from his mother. “Damnation! What?”
Boggs entered, trepidation on his face. “Your Graces, my apologies. There is an urgent message for the duke. From Yorkshire.”
Simon went cold, taking the note and dismissing the butler.
He broke the wax seal, and unfolded the paper, knowing that this was the note he had been dreading—the one that would change everything.
He read it quickly, then refolded it, placing it in his pocket. All this time, he’d been waiting . . . preparing for the message and, with it, any number of emotions—anger, fear, nervousness, irritation.
But what he felt was calm.
He stood, heading for the door.
“Leighton—” his mother called out, and he paused, back to her. Had that been a tremor in her voice? He looked over his shoulder, noticing her skin like parchment, her gray eyes set deep in her face, the hollow of her cheeks.
She looked weary.
And resigned.
“Is there news?”
The news they had been waiting for.
“You are a grandmother.”
Chapter Fourteen
The country is where rumors go to hide.
Elegant ladies do not rusticate.
—A Treatise on the Most Exquisite of Ladies
Tragedy! Our favorite item from the Continent has gone missing . . .
—The Scandal Sheet, November 1823
After traveling for five days on the hard, unforgiving roads of the English countryside, Juliana had never been so happy as she was to see Townsend Park.
If only she could get there.
The carriage had been stopped as soon as it had turned off the post road and down the long drive leading to the great stone house that loomed, stately and beautiful from the vast Yorkshire moors. When she had explained to the two enormous guards that her brother was the master of the house, and she was simply here for a visit, one of the men had leapt on a horse and was off like a shot to the great house—presumably to announce her arrival.
After a quarter of an hour, Juliana had descended from the carriage to stretch her legs by the side of the road while she waited to be approved for entry into the Park.
Security was serious business in this little corner of England.
On the surface, Townsend Park was the primary residence the Earl of Reddich, overseen by Juliana’s half brother and Ralston’s twin, Lord Nicholas St. John, and his wife Isabel, the earl’s sister. But the manor was also known as Minerva House, a safe place for young women from across England who needed sanctuary from difficult circumstances. Until Nick had discovered Isabel and the house several months ago, the safety of its residents had been under constant threat.
No longer, thought Juliana as she looked up at the massive guard with whom she had been left. These gentlemen seem ready to take on anything that comes their way.
She could not deny that there was something comforting in knowing that once inside the confines of the Park, she would be protected from the world beyond its borders.
She kicked a stone, watching it disappear into the rushes that grew along the side of the drive, golden with the glow of the afternoon sun.
Perhaps she’d never leave.
She wondered if anyone would even notice.
Wondered if Simon would notice.
She knew better than to think about him—about the last time she had seen him, just over a week ago, looking every inch the happy bridegroom. But she couldn’t help it. She’d spent five long days in the carriage from London, with little to do but play Briscola with Carla and think about him . . . and the way he touched her . . . the way he spoke her name . . . the way his gaze heated when he looked at her, until his eyes turned the color of honey straight from the comb.
She took a deep breath.
He was not for her.
And it was time she realized it and put him out of her mind.
By the time she returned to London, he would be married. And she would have no choice but to pretend their clandestine meetings had never happened. No choice but to play as though she and the Duke of Leighton had nothing more than a passing acquaintance.
That she did not know the way his voice deepened to velvet just before he kissed her.
She sighed and turned back to the house, to see her brother, high upon a horse, wide grin on his face, galloping toward her.
Meeting his smile with one of her own, she waved and called out to him. “My most handsome brother!”
He was off his horse before it stopped, scooping her into an exuberant hug, laughter in his voice. “I shall tell Gabriel you said so, you know.”
She waved one hand as he set her on her feet. “As though it would be a surprise! He pales dreadfully in comparison. I am still not certain that you are twins at all.”
Gabriel and Nick were identical in every way save one—a dreadful scar that curved down the side of Nick’s face, narrowly missing his eye. The scar did nothing to mar his handsomeness, however; instead giving his open, friendly countenance a hint of mystery that drew women like moths to flame.
She wrinkled her nose. “Must I return to my prison? Can’t we walk instead?”
Waving the carriage past, he took up the reins of his horse and they began the half-mile walk to the manor house. Nick asked a handful of polite questions about her journey before Juliana stopped him with, “I assume you have heard the news.”
He nodded, lips set in a firm line. “Gabriel sent a messenger the evening she arrived.” He paused. “How is she?”
“The same.”
They walked for a moment in silence before he asked, “And how are you?”
She looked down at her feet, watching the tips of her boots peep out from beneath the hem of her wine-colored traveling cloak. “I am . . .” She turned to him, taking in his clear blue gaze, filled with interest and not a little concern, and then past him to the wide-open heath that stretched for miles in every direction. “I am happy to be here,” she said. And it was the truth.
He smiled, offering her an arm, which she took with pleasure. Nick had always been the easier of her brothers—where Gabriel’s temper ran hot, Nick was patient and understanding. He would not press her to discuss their mother, or anything else. But he would listen when she was ready to talk.
She was not ready.
Not yet.
“And how are things here?” she said, changing the subject. “You so rarely write, I sometimes think I do not have a middle brother.”
He gave a little laugh. “Wild and well, as usual. We’ve had three new girls in the past month . . . four if you count the baby that arrived ten days ago.”
Her eyes widened. “Baby?”
“One of the girls . . .” He trailed off.
He did not have to finish the sentence. The tale was an old one. One of the girls had made a mistake and found herself unmarried and with child. Perhaps a month ago, Juliana would not have considered such a circumstance to be the product of ignorance or irresponsibility. But now . . .
Now, she knew too well how tempting men could be.
“At any rate, Isabel is working too hard.” Nick interrupted her thoughts.
She smiled. “Isabel always works too hard.”
“Yes, but now that she carries my child, I prefer to see her in bed eating biscuits. Perhaps you could nudge her in that direction.”
Juliana laughed. Isabel was nearly as susceptible to nudging as one of the marble statues she loved so much. His smile turned soft at the laughter, and Juliana felt a pang of envy at the emotion she saw there.
“I see you think that an unreasonable request.”
“Not unreasonable. Merely doomed to remain unfulfilled.”
He barked his laughter as the object of their conversation came into view on the top steps of the manor house. Juliana waved to her sister-in-law, who returned the greeting and started down the steps toward them.
Juliana ran to meet Isabel, and the two embraced warmly before holding each other at arm’s length for inspection.
“How is it that you have been traveling for five days and still look beautiful?” Isabel teased. “I can barely get down the stairs in the morning without ruining a gown!”
Juliana grinned at her sister-in-law, now five months pregnant and happily glowing. “Nonsense. You are gorgeous!” Juliana said, holding Isabel at arm’s length and taking in the gentle swell of her abdomen. “And how lucky am I that I shall soon have two lovely nieces to indulge!”
“Nieces, are they?” Nick teased from behind.
Juliana grinned. “In this house? You think you will have a son?”
“A man can dream.”
Isabel took Juliana’s arm, leading her toward the house. “I am so happy you are here, and just in time for Bonfire Night!”
“There is a night for fire?”
Isabel waved a hand. “You will see.”
Juliana looked over her shoulder at Nick. “Should I be concerned?”
“Possibly. It involves burning Catholics in effigy.”
Juliana’s eyes grew wide, and Isabel laughed. “Nick. Stop it. She still does not trust the English.”
“And apparently, I should not!” Juliana said. “I should have known better than to come to the country. It is apparently a risk.”
“Only a risk to your daily excitement,” Isabel replied. “It’s dreadfully boring compared to London.”
“I thought you hated London,” Nick said.
“I remain worried about fire,” Juliana interjected.
“I don’t hate London. Anymore,” Isabel said to Nick, then turned immediately to Juliana. “Don’t worry about the fire. You’ll be fine. You’ll see tomorrow. Now. Tell me everything that is happening in London—all I get is the news, weeks old, from Pearls and Pelisses!”
Nick groaned at the reference to the ladies’ magazine that had once set all of London’s unmatched females after him. “I do not know why we still take the damned magazine.”
“The girls like it,” Isabel said, referring to the rest of the population of Minerva House.
“Ahh,” teased Juliana. “The girls. Well, they shall very much enjoy the next issue, I would imagine. Our mother has once again made us the talk of the town.” She paused, then, unable to resist, continued. “At least, she had done before the Duke of Leighton chose his bride.”
Nick and Isabel shared a shocked look. “Leighton is to marry?”
“He announced his betrothal to Lady Penelope Marbury last week.” She was very proud of herself for keeping her tone even and unmoved. “Are you surprised? Dukes are required to marry, Nick.”
Nick paused, thinking on the question. “Of course they are. I’m merely surprised that he hasn’t said anything to us.”
She blinked. “I was not aware that your relationship with the duke was close enough for him to write to you of his pending nuptials.”
“Oh, it’s not,” Isabel chimed in. “But you would think that it might have come up in conversation at some point.”
Warning bells sounded, and Juliana stopped walking. “Conversation?” Perhaps she had misunderstood. Her English was far from perfect.
“Yes. Leighton is here.”
“Here?” She looked to Nick. Perhaps it was Isabel she was misunderstanding. “Why would he be here?”
He couldn’t be here. Not now. Not when the only thing she needed was to be as far from him as possible.
“I suppose you’ll find out soon enough . . .” Nick said. “He came as soon as the child was born.”
A wave of panic passed through her.
The child.
He had a child.
She was overcome with emotion—a combination of sadness and shock and not a little bit of jealousy. Another woman had had his child. A woman to whom he had belonged for some length of time.
In a way that he would never belong to Juliana.
The knowledge was devastating.
“Juliana?” Isabel’s voice sounded from far away. “You’ve gone pale. Are you ill?”
“Leighton . . . he is here now?”
“Yes. Juliana . . . is there something wrong? Has the duke been rude to you?” She looked to Nick. “It’s a wonder the man hasn’t had a decent thrashing in twenty years.”
Apparently Isabel did not care for Simon either. No one in her family seemed to like him, this man who had shipped one woman off to Yorkshire to birth his illegitimate child while he proposed marriage to another.
And while he did marvelous, unspeakable things to a third in darkened conservatories.
Her family suddenly seemed to have excellent judgment of character.
“Gabriel gave him a thrashing already.”
“Did he? Good!” Isabel said.
“Did he? When?” This, from Nick.
“Last week,” Juliana said, wishing they had not started down this path.
“Why?”
“No reason.”
None Nick need know, at least.
Nick’s brows rose. “I somehow doubt that.” He paused. “So. You know Leighton.”
She felt ill. “Vaguely.”
Isabel and Nick shared a look before he said, “It does not seem at all vague, actually. It seems that you know him well enough to be unsettled by the idea that he is here.”
“Not at all.”
Why would she be unsettled by the fact that she’d escaped to Yorkshire only to find that the person from whom she’d escaped was already there?
With his secret child.
It was not the first secret he had kept from her.
Merely the most important.
“So,” she said, walking once more, hoping to sound casual. “The child. Will he acknowledge it?”
That had not sounded at all casual. It had sounded as though she were being strangled. Juliana was beginning to wish that her carriage had been set upon by highwaymen on the way there. Yes. Abduction at the hands of criminals would have been a better fate than this.
“It is not clear,” Nick said.
She stopped again, turning back to Nick. “I beg your pardon. Did you say it is not clear?”
“There are a number of things that he must consider . . .”
Her anger began to rise. “What kind of things? You mean his future bride?”
Nick looked confused. “Among other things.”
“Don’t you think she deserves to know? Isabel? Wouldn’t you have wanted to know before you married Nick?”
Isabel thought for a moment. “Perhaps . . .”
Juliana’s eyes went wide. Had everyone in the family lost their minds? “Perhaps?” she squeaked.
Isabel looked surprised, then hurried to correct herself. “All right, yes. I suppose I would have.”
“Precisely!” Juliana looked to Nick. “You see?”
She couldn’t believe that Nick would even consider accepting less than acknowledgment from Leighton. This was his child. Legitimate or no, she deserved to know from whence she came.