An Earl for the Broken-Hearted Duchess

by Lucinda Nelson

  ***

  In the coming days, she had hoped that Ezra would snap out of his daze of sadness and anger, but she was bitterly disappointed.

  As time passed, his condition worsened. Anger turned to terrible quietness. Sadness paled him. And when she tried to speak to him, he did not even indicate that he had heard her at all. He would only stare at the wall.

  Every night, she lay in bed thinking of him. It was so strange to feel so alone, knowing that he too felt alone, while neither of them seemed able to reach each other.

  Sometimes, the only thing that would put her to sleep at night was remembering what it was like to hold him as a baby. To feel his crying settle into the quiet rhythm of easy breaths.

  How he’d be calmed by her voice alone and clutch at her breast as though the prospect of her being anywhere but beside him would tear him apart.

  When her heart felt weak from thinking herself into a torment, someone else would infiltrate her mind. Exhaustion made her vulnerable.

  And when she imagined the warm press of him around her, holding her every piece together, she was calm.

  ***

  Lord Nathaniel Sterling, Earl of Comptonshire

  It had been over a week since Nathaniel had heard from her. He had felt sure that she would call on him. Or that Ezra would, certainly. There had been a moment between them, hadn’t there?

  Or had he overstepped? He recalled the look on her face when he had kissed her hand and their eyes had met. She’d looked like a stunned deer.

  “You are pacing,” Clark noted. He was, once again, lounging in Nathaniel’s drawing room. He was a terrible tease, but Nathaniel was glad that he was not left alone with his thoughts.

  “I am only restless.”

  “Thinking of the Duchess?”

  Nathaniel shot him an unforgiving look and continued to pace. He wasn’t sure what he was pacing in wait of.

  He wouldn’t hear from her so late in the day. He might not hear from her at all. After all, it had been days and there had been not a single word from her.

  But he couldn’t be still, not when his mind was amid such chaos.

  “A widowed mother does not fit your parents’ specifications.”

  “I am well aware of that,” Nathaniel snapped, as surly as a bear. “I only hoped to hear from the boy. I have no interest in the Duchess beyond the well-being of her son.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Nathaniel could see Clark attempting to disguise a smile behind his hand.

  “Oh, do find someone else to entertain you.”

  Clark abandoned his effort to hide his smile. Now, he let Nathaniel see it, broad and knowing as it was. “You may be able to fool yourself, but you cannot fool me, my friend.”

  Nathaniel did not answer, but he did stop pacing.

  “Perhaps this will cheer you,” Clark said, as he pulled a letter from his pocket. “I have the information you asked for.”

  Nathaniel snatched the letter from his hand. “Who did you acquire it from?” Nathaniel asked, as he opened it.

  “Does it matter? I have my methods, as you know.”

  Nathaniel was already reading.

  There was a heavy silence as he read. When he came to the final words, he sat down and let his hands go limp around the paper. “Have you read this?”

  “I am a gentleman,” Clark answered. “I do not concern myself with the business of Duchesses.”

  He felt a sudden pang of shame, as he was sure Clark meant him to. He knew that looking for information on the Duchess was not exactly in keeping with his usual code of ethics. But he had gone mad with thoughts of her in the past few days.

  He had needed to know.

  “Well-deserved,” he acknowledged. “I am a cad.”

  “Only a smitten fool.”

  Nathaniel did not answer. He was reading the letter a second time. “Her husband did her a terrible wrong.”

  “Is there a scandal?”

  “More than any woman should be expected to bear.”

  “Then I expect she could benefit from the presence of a good man.”

  Nathaniel ignored him. He was thinking. Imagining what it must have been like for her to hear the news of her husband’s death… of how he was found.

  It explained a great deal of her reservation. As well as the sadness lurking in her eyes.

  No wonder she had come to Comptonshire.

  “Now that you know the truth of her, I suppose you intend to leave her be?” Clark said, with a knowing smile.

  Nathaniel looked at his friend. “I ought to,” he said. He put the letter down beside him. “But I can’t.”

  Chapter 10

  Lady Margaret Abigail Baxter, Duchess of Lowe

  When Lord Sterling was led into her drawing room, Margaret lost her capacity to speak entirely. She stared at him for a few weighted moments, and he at her. After a notable delay, he dropped into a bow and greeted her.

  “My Lord,” she said, and smoothed the skirt of her dress with her hands. It was an anxious habit she’d picked up from her mother as a child. “I was not expecting you.”

  “No,” he said, as he straightened to a stand. “I have come entirely of my own accord.”

  That did not bode well for her. She cleared her throat and stood. The last time they’d seen one another, they’d been loosened by liquor, free with their thoughts and far too close for comfort.

  She would not allow that to happen a second time. She folded her hands in front of her and said, “What can I do for you, my Lord?” She listened out for the sound of movement upstairs as she spoke.

  Ezra hadn’t come down that morning. For once, she hoped he would not.

  “I was hoping I might see Ezra,” he said. The sentiment was like a fist squeezing at Margaret’s breast. Ezra was desperate to see this man, when he wanted to see no one else.

  And for a moment, her resolve wavered. If her son learnt of the Earl’s desire to see him, and that Margaret had turned him away, she did not think he would ever forgive her.

  When he’d been a baby, Margaret had never imagined needing to make decisions like this. She hadn’t thought of herself as being so ruled by fear at that time.

  She’d only been happy. So happy. But her loving, tender boy was gone, and if she had any hope of getting him back she needed to protect what was left of his heart.

  If another man broke it, while he was still grieving his father’s death, there would surely be no remedying it.

  But the words stuck in her throat and emerged in a reluctant croak. “I am sorry, my Lord,” she said, and attempted a smile that might make her appear more sincere.

  In reality, she thought it drew attention to her deception. “He is feeling particularly unwell today and does not want to see anyone.”

  The Earl did not answer immediately. There was a faint furrow between his brows, as though he was trying to work out something at once complicated and crucial.

  He does not believe me, she thought, and dropped her eyes to her hands, which were shifting against each other.

  “I am so extremely sorry to hear that,” the Earl said, in the wake of a silence that was unbearably long.

  Neither of them spoke for several seconds. It was a strange feeling. To be stood in silence with a man in her drawing room.

  Among their peers, small talk was the most prevalent skill of all. Silence was a phenomenon. God forbid anyone should think they were not comfortable in one another’s company.

  “I will take my leave then,” he said, in a voice that didn’t sound much like his own. She could see the twinge of disappointment in his eyes and couldn’t comprehend it.

  Why would a man of his age, rank and responsibilities want to spend his precious time with an injured six year old boy?

  Joshua had scarcely had enough interest in his own son. So as kind and courteous as Nathaniel Sterling seemed, Margaret could not bring herself to entirely trust his intentions.

  Was this some callous attempt to take advantage of a gr
ieving, wealthy woman? She knew very well how eligible a bachelor Lord Sterling was.

  But what could he want with a widowed mother, Duchess or not? And with such scandal flanking her. A scandal he surely knew nothing of. If he did, she felt certain that he would not be standing with her now.

  “I thank you for coming,” she said, as her lips pressed into a thin line.

  As Nathaniel turned to take his leave, she caught him looking back at her over his shoulder. She did not meet his eye. Until he stilled and spoke again. “Are you quite well, your Grace?” His voice was so soft that she felt as though her knees might melt.

  She looked at him, truly, for the first time since he’d arrived. She took in everything she’d thought about since the evening they’d spent together.

  Committing it to memory. The full breadth of his shoulder. The pillow of his chest that rose and fell with every steady breath.

  She’d never thought about a man’s breaths so much as she thought about the Earl’s in the past week. Imagining what they would sound like up close, with her cheek pressed against his sternum.

  She wanted to know the rhythm and depth as well as the back of her hand.

  You’ve been fooled before by handsome men, she reminded herself. Joshua had been handsome too. And kind at first. When they’d married, she’d thought he was the most charming man to ever walk the earth.

  Which made her feel all the more foolish now. Of course, such charm couldn’t be afforded to one woman alone. There had to be more, to fill the notches in his belt.

  She was thinking herself into a frenzy and realized that she hadn’t answered his question. He’d turned to face her again and taken a half-step closer, before catching himself. “Your Grace?”

  Margaret did not realize she had been holding her breath until it evacuated her lungs in a rush.

  She sank back into her seat, entirely deflated, and put her forehead upon her hand. “Yes, I only have a headache. Please forgive me.”

  With her head lowered as it was, she could only see his feet. It was better that way. She wouldn’t have to look upon his face, which did such remarkable things to her stomach.

  His feet moved. He’d taken a step closer.

  “In truth, there was another reason I came.”

  She stopped breathing again. Guessing at a man’s intentions was more troublesome than any other labor. She lifted her face a little, to peer up at him from beneath her lashes.

  “I came to ask your forgiveness, your Grace.”

  She swallowed.

  “Only, I have done something entirely ungentlemanly.”

  How she wished he would just say it. But she could see that whatever he had done had brought great shame upon him.

  Which made her all the more afraid. Was it already too late? Had he already committed some crime against her? Could her name and dignity bear another mark against it?

  “I admit that I was curious about you, following our meal together. I wanted to know more of you.” Nathaniel folded his fidgeting hands together behind his back, but kept his head inclined low.

  It was a strange position for a man to be seen in. The few apologies she’d received from men had been reluctant and reserved.

  They lacked the impression of sincerity that accompanied posture and countenance. They would always be stiff-lipped, with head high.

  They may apologize, but they would not allow themselves to surrender any of their pride.

  Nathaniel Sterling was not like that. At last, his eyes rose to hers. Such striking eyes. They mesmerized her, afraid as she was, like a cobra in a basket. “I asked a friend of mine to find out what he could of you.”

  Margaret’s features stiffened. She straightened in her seat and met his stare directly. “And what did you learn?” She asked, tersely, though she knew the answer.

  She was a Duchess. She would not cower when she was faced with the truth. As weak as her heart had become, as trampled as her dignity was, she would maintain her composure in the face of ridicule.

  “I learnt of your terrible misfortune.”

  Margaret nodded. “And you hope to spread the word throughout Comptonshire, I suppose, unless I comply with your demands.”

  Lord Sterling flinched, as though she’d struck him. “What?”

  She did not answer. Only allowed her words, unkind as they were, to sink in.

  At first, he looked rather like a beaten child. So innocent in the face of insult. But it was but a mere moment before his countenance hardened. “Do I strike you as the sort of man who blackmails grieving women?”

  It was her time to be taken aback. False remorse she might have expected, but anger blindsided her.

  “You do not know me well, your Grace,” he added, his voice getting stonier by the moment. “But you know me better than that.”

  “Then why have you come?” Margaret pressed, with a look of surprise.

  He was beginning to pace. “I have come,” he said. “Because I did you wrong. I should not have attempted to access information I had no right to. You had a right to an apology.”

  He stopped walking suddenly. “But I see now that an apology from a man you think so little of must mean nothing at all. I apologize for visiting unannounced. I will take my leave now.”

  He turned towards the door, but before he could leave Margaret was upon him. She took hold of his arm, in a tight grip that was entirely unbecoming for a lady.

  He froze and looked down at her hand. And the pair of them stood like that, in the doorway of the drawing room, neither of them breathing.

  “Please, my Lord, you must forgive me. I-” Her words were a tumbling mess, but she kept talking. “These past months have not been kind to me. And it has become hard to accept the rare kindnesses that are bestowed upon me as sincere. But now it is I who have done you a disservice. Please, forgive me for my sour tongue.”

  The Earl’s eyes were wide and bright. And close as she was, she could see every fine lash of his as they grazed his cheeks.

  It took a moment, during which time she felt sure that he would yank his arm free and leave, without speaking a word.

  But then his shoulders slackened.

  He placed his hand atop hers, where it still gripped his arm. He squeezed and she felt that same sizzle from the other night. “Shall we call it even?” He suggested and half smiled.

  Margaret smiled too, with a feeling of relief so extreme that it was without reason. She nodded and said, “Would you sit, my Lord? I fear I have been terribly unwelcoming.”

  He did as she bid and, once seated, they shared a quiet moment. The peace in the wake of a storm that was short-lived, but not without force.

  “What your husband did,” he said, in a voice that shattered the silence like glass. “Was an awful thing.” Margaret did not answer, because it seemed that there was more he wanted to say.

  He took an audible breath. “I wanted to tell you that you are not alone. That I… understand.”

  Had he been any other man, she would have asserted that it was impossible for him to understand. For any man to understand heartbreak of this nature.

  But her trust in Nathaniel’s heart and mind, though fragile, was beginning to bloom. She did not think him capable of thoughtlessness. “When I was young, before I left for war, I fell quite in love.”

  Why did she feel a phantom pang when he said that?

  “But when she learned that I had an older brother who would be inheriting the title instead of me, she lost interest in me.”

  She could see by his expression and the stiffness of his posture that it had been a long time since he had last spoke of this. If, indeed, he ever had. “And married another man.”

  “My Lord…” she murmured, but did not know what else to say. She was feeling his pain alongside him, every pulse of it.

  He offered her a sad smile, to thank her for her compassion. “I could not bear to stay. Nor could I bear to remain a part of such a world where rank came before love.” The Earl looked down at his
hands, then back up at her. “So I left.”

  ***

  Lord Nathaniel Sterling, Earl of Comptonshire

  How many years had it been since he’d spoken of Tessa? He couldn’t count them. He’d felt that to speak of it would be to revive the pain.

  And certainly, there was a stirring of it. But there was also a weight lifted from him, to have someone hear of it who he knew would understand. Who would not ridicule him for it.