by Stacy Reid
Two weeks later…
The silence in the drawing room throbbed like a festered wound that desperately needed a lance to relieve the pain. William swallowed down the sick feeling rising inside and awaited an answer.
“I beg your pardon?” his mother finally demanded from where she sat, elegant and ramrod-straight, on a winged back chair near the roaring fire.
Before William could reply, she shot her husband a scandalized look. “Did you also hear our son asked us permission to wed…” the words choked her as if she could not bear to utter them. “Upon my word, I cannot credit such nonsense!”
“I did,” his father said in that contemplative manner of his, dark blue eyes pinned to William with the intensity of a hawk. “The heir to all my estates and grandeur wishes to marry the daughter of the local reverend.”
Pronounced disappointment and menacing anger rang in his father’s voice. He took up a glass which appeared to hold brandy and with calculated indifference meant to signal his dismissal of William’s query, the duke made his way over to the floor-to-ceiling French windows which faced the rolling lawns of his estate.
“It was frequently remarked that you were too often in the company of Miss Knightly, but I never dared dream you would take it this far!” the duchess cried, her gaze brimming with accusation and rebuke.
His mother closed her eyes and turned her face away from him. William’s chest went tight, he made his way over to her and sat on the sofa in front of her.
He squared his shoulders. “Mother, I know you have hopes that I will marry Lord Appleby’s daughter. But I do not love—”
“What do you know of love?” she snapped, jutting her chin toward him. “You are three and twenty! You’ve hardly lived.”
“I’ve experienced enough of the world to be sure,” he said quietly. “I am certain as the sun sets daily and the morning breaks that I love Miss Knightly. If you would meet her and—”
“I have no interest in meeting a girl who has seduced you away from your good senses because she wishes to elevate herself and her family,” the duchess said with biting incivility. “People ought to know their place in this world and abide by it! A marriage between you both is quite unthinkable by our family’s standard.”
His father finally wrested his attention away from the lawns and faced his parents. His features were austere and foreboding. “Your mother is correct, son. We will not tolerate you blighting your future by even thinking to marry this girl. If you do not wish to marry Lord Appleby’s daughter, that is fine,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Pick another. There are many beauties in the ton with suitable dowries and political connections.”
A yawning emptiness seemed to swell within William and threatened to swallow him. He stood, staring at the parents he loved and respected and knew he could not meet their demands. “Is your only objection because of her connections?” he asked hoarsely.
His father walked over to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Take her as your mistress. We’ll not object to such an arrangement.”
William flinched and stepped back from the embrace. “I’d never dishonor her in such a manner, Father. She is…” his throat worked on a swallow. “She is beautiful in spirit. She is gentle, kind, and a young lady of thoughtful and considerate manners.”
“Be that as it may, she is only fit for one role in your life.”
A mistress…
William walked away and made his way to the door. He loved Sophia beyond duty and expectations. The awareness settled through his body, warmed his soul. He’d not abandon his promises because of his family’s lack of welcome.
“The reverend will not permit her to marry you. If he does, the man will feel the full force of my displeasure, and I will ruin his family,” the duke said to William’s retreating form, his tone implacable. “And if you should run away with her and bring scandal and disgrace to our family name, I shall not let you off lightly.”
His father’s promise cracked in the air like a whip, he faltered in his steps, and turned to face him. His mother had stood with his father, their unity in this decision evident.
“I made a promise to Miss Knightly that I would marry her,” he said quietly.
“Her family would not dare sue for breach of promise,” the duke said arrogantly. “I’ll see to it the reverend loses his standing and income.”
“I’ll not dishonor my words or shame Miss Knightly,” replied William.
His mother swayed, lifting a hand to her mouth, her eyes pooling with unshed tears. “So, you will shame us instead? Do you see nothing objectionable in the connection?”
“Mama, Miss Knightly’s family is respectable, even if they are not wealthy. Her father is the son of a baron, and her aunt by her father married an earl. You both professed your admiration and love for me over the years, father, yet you seem quite unconcerned now with the future state of my happiness. If I must leave with Miss Knightly, I shall, and if I must wait until she is of age to consent freely, I will.”
Ignoring his mother’s choked cry of protest, he made his way from the drawing room and outside to the stables, calling for his horse to be saddled. A few minutes later, he was riding toward the village and to the reverend’s cottage. The first thing that struck William was how unusually quiet the streets of Mulford were today. Several shops were closed, and the normally rowdy and lively children were missing. A horse powered toward him, and he slowed his canter, smiling to see that it was his youngest brother, Simon. Soon to be Dr. Simon Astor, he corrected, a burst of pride firing inside his chest.
His brother had bravely defied his family’s expectation of entering the clergy and had studied medicine to their mother’s distress. He’d only recently returned for holidays from Edinburgh where he studied under a renowned surgeon and physician.
His brother slowed his horse as he drew up beside William. He frowned at the worry that filled Simon’s dark blue eyes.
“Is all well?”
A heavy sigh issued from him. “I am exhausted and must sleep. I have been awake for two days with only snatches of rest.”
It was then William noted the gauntness to his face and the weariness which seemed to clung to Simon like a second skin. He was only a lad of twenty, quite brilliant, and sure of himself and his place in the world. William had never seen him in such a state of disarray. “Tell me what has happened, and how might I help you,” he offered.
A quick smile of thanks creased his brother’s face, at once lifting away the visage of an older man.
“Dr. Powell sent a boy for me yesterday having heard that I was recently home from my studies.”
William glanced about the quiet streets, once again, a disturbing sensation winding through his heart. “What did he require of you?”
Simon met his gaze. “There is a sickness in the village. Dozens of homes are affected, and there have been a few deaths.”
Shock punched William in the gut, and he tightened his hand on the reins. “Good God, man! Say it isn’t so.”
“It might be cholera.” This was said with grim forbearance.
William sucked in a harsh breath. “Cholera, here in Mulford?”
Since his own return from university, he had been working closely with his father and a few other lords as they drafted motions they would take to parliament. That ravaging and incurable disease had claimed over six thousand lives in London only a year past, and a reputed twenty thousand more in Paris only a few months ago. The numbers reported in Russia were astronomical, and many doctors believed it to be a wasting disease caused by foul air. There were other theories of course, but what concerned the duke was the general uncleanliness of London, and the genuine and frightening possibility that their dirty and sewage-laden streets might contribute to the terrible disease spreading even farther than the eastern slums and eventually to the west, then the whole of England.
William had been disgusted by the stench and pollution in London. In this modern age, with all the recent di
scoveries, it seemed so medieval. He could not understand how the great minds of the day could not see that the filth was unhealthy. He had heard the various medical theories as explanation for disease and found them wanting. The village stunk from cesspits, and open sewers; his father the Duke should have done something to make sure that everything was wholesome in Mulford. As most of the villagers were his tenants, it was the Duke’s responsibility. The dukedom was wealthy enough to put in modern sewers, but his father had not been prepared to ‘waste money when it was not needful to do so.’
William had discussed the matter of installing sewers in the village with Simon, and they had agreed they were necessary, but his father held the purse strings. Somehow, he had believed like many others such diseases would remain in the urban areas that were densely populated and ran amok with waste and garbage.
Cholera here in Mulford seemed so improbable, and William recalled there were several theories which claimed it was contagious from one patient to another. Dread coiled in his gut. “Are you certain it is cholera? I must inform father immediately to secure as much help as possible for the people of Mulford.”
“It could also be Typhus,” Simon said wearily. “Or some other disease we are not sure of. A few of the parishioners I saw had a fever, severe nervous agitation, a weak pulse, and in the extreme case of Reverend Knightly, purging.”
Ice prickled along William’s skin. “The reverend is afflicted?” Good God, how was Sophia coping with her father’s illness?
Simon rubbed a hand over his face and released a heavy sigh. “I fear his entire family has fallen to the disease.”
For a timeless moment, William could not breathe, or think, all rational capabilities forgotten. Cold sweat slicked down his back beneath his jacket, and for precious seconds he could not utter a single word. The roaring in his eardrums became too loud, and though Simon’s lips moved, William could not discern his words. Finally, the tight band across his throat loosened, and he asked, “Sophia is ill?” He hadn’t seen her in a bit over a week, but when he’d left for his short trip to town she had been in robust health.
His brother sent him a sharp glance. “Miss Knightly…yes…are you intimate with the family?”
“I am.”
Simon grimaced. “It is sad to say they are one of the worse afflicted families in the area. Dr. Powell and I have little hope—”
William urged his horse into a flat run as he made his way toward the rectory. He prayed, deep anguish already beating in his heart. He’d pored over dozens of reports in his father’s library, preparing arguments and research along with medical reports and journals of the disease’s deadly effects.
If the Knightly family and the people of Mulford were indeed suffering through a cholera outbreak, their chances of survival and recovery were quite dim. William raced toward his love and prayed as he’d never prayed before. But no hope entered his heart, only a tight ball of grief and dread that such a beautiful, vibrant soul like Sophia might die.
Please, God, save her!
Chapter 1
Six years and eleven months later…
“Marry me.”
“Yes.”
It had been a little over an hour since his brother, Dr. Simon Astor, had walked away from Hawthorne Park’s overly large dining room with William’s fiancée in tow. Their mother, the duchess of Wycliffe, was still busy soothing the hysterical Countess Langford, who lamented loudly that Lady Miranda, her daughter, had brought their entire family and reputation to ruin.
William chuckled mirthlessly, refilling his glass with whisky and tipping it to his lips. The person who had brought the Cheswick family’s name into question was the countess herself, who had connived to compromise William with her daughter a few weeks previously, simply because he was the 12th duke of Wycliffe.
William had gone along with the farce because he knew he needed to acquire a wife. In a few weeks, he would be thirty, and the years he had spent abroad had filled his pockets with great wealth, but his heart remained an empty husk. His duty to the title was not one he would ever neglect, but he had thought it his obligation to finally return home from India and to seek a bride to marry. The farcical affair of Lady Miranda being trapped in his chamber under his brother’s roof should have rescued William from wading through the ton to select a suitable future duchess. It had appeared to him at the time an easy decision to acquiesce to. The fact that Lady Miranda was also an acclaimed beauty, together with being the daughter of an earl had made her seem a perfectly acceptable bride. William had believed himself very fortunate with the turn of events until his brother Simon had spoken up.
“I know your honor is very important to you, but I must explain that Lady Miranda is my Sophia.”
William rubbed the aching center of his chest that had burned to life upon Simon’s words. If William had known that his brother loved Lady Miranda, he would never have made the offer. He lifted his glass in a toast to the eloping couple, admiring their audacity and bravery in the face of their family’s and society’s expectations.
A knock sounded on the door of the library. “Enter.”
The scent of his mother’s lavender perfume preceded her inside. He turned from the windows and observed her progress within the lavish space. His mother was dressed in the height of fashion, even if she yet wore half-mourning. Her lavender silk dress was pin-tucked decoratively into her still tiny waist. Its full sleeves tightening into delicate black lace cuffs. The neckline and hem of the full skirts ornamented with black lace, trimmed with opulent black ribbon bows. Mourning she had defiantly worn since her husband had died more than six years earlier from a failure of his heart. William thought his mother would have continued to wear black if she had thought the color suited her, but she looked very good in grays and shades of muted purple. A color she considered most suitable for a dowager duchess. His mother made her way to the mantle and to his amusement poured herself a healthy draft of whisky. The duchess took several swallows, spluttering slightly.
“The scandal will be absolutely dreadful,” she said. “Whatever was your brother thinking! The countess is still totally prostrate with grief at their selfish actions. She is so disappointed that Miranda will not be your bride and dreads facing the embarrassment that will ensue. We must do everything within our power to stem the tide of scandal!”
“The countess was abominably selfish in trying to force her daughter to marry a man she does not love. I was just as damnably foolish to go along with her plan when I merely found Miranda attractive. I was wrong to think only that it would simplify my life and avoid a tedious search to find a wife. I regret the upset caused but I cannot regret standing aside for Simon and Miranda’s happiness. Simon and the lady were true to their hearts. I will do my duty and find another bride.”
His mother turned an appalled gaze in his direction. “You sound as if you admire their outrageous conduct!”
William smiled briefly. “I do.” Once many years ago he, William had thought about running away with the girl he’d loved more than duty and honor. He had lost her and it still hurt him deeply. If only he hadn’t dawdled, seeking to persuade his parents to allow their marriage, their lives now would be of rich and contented fulfillment together. Instead, she was bones lying somewhere in a cold, unmarked grave. “I shall use all my influence to allow them to escape any scandal.”
“The countess has already sent notices to the paper of your engagement to Miranda. Now the world will know you’ve been jilted.”
“I’ll admit to being such an ogre that the fair lady could not bear to endure my company for another minute.”
His mother frowned. “That will not do. Your reputation must not bear any scrutiny—”
“I am certain it will not break,” he said flatly and with considerable arrogance. “I am the duke of Wycliffe.”
“How unconcerned you are,” she huffed, taking another tentative sip of her drink. “I am sure you’ll be running off to town for your share of amusements, and th
en you’ll be at the nasty end of tonight’s disaster. Though I must warn you there will not be much to be done now that the Season is ending,” his mother said, watching him keenly.
William made a noncommittal sound, almost alarmed at the lack of interest he felt in the excitement and amusements of the ton. His mind and heart were stuck remembering the burning love which had glowed in Lady Miranda’s eyes for his brother, and the mistake he had almost made in intending to rob them of that happiness. “There will be enough for me to do,” he said, “And I’ll be assuming my duties in the House of Lords at its next opening, and so now is a good time to reacquaint myself with the lords and ladies of the ton.”
“And you’ll be doing it amidst a brewing scandal!” she cried, her voice rich with displeasure. “Lady Miranda was perfect for you! So beautiful and poised.”
But far more perfect for Simon.
An irritated sigh heaved from her. “I’ll have to make a list of the eligible ladies for your perusal, and perhaps plan a garden party so you can meet as many as possible. I do believe Lady Vivian, the Earl of Granville’s daughter, would be absolutely perfect for you!”
William considered his mother and the smile of strain about her lips. “I thought you would prefer to make your way to Bath to see your friend as soon as possible.”
Her eyes widened, and she took several sips as if to gather her composure. “You know of the viscount?”
“Simon kept me abreast of happenings at home,” he said, casually admitting to his knowledge of her affair with a man ten years younger than herself.
“I believed you would have been violently opposed to the idea, William.”
“I have been away for years, Mother. Who am I to oppose any desire you have in your heart?”
She glanced away briefly before leveling her gaze on him once more. “You are the duke, the head of this family. You have at last taken up the duties and responsibilities of your station in life, it was always your destiny to be the duke and take your proper place in society. Now is the time when all propriety must be observed so the family name remains unblemished.”
