To Marry the Duke (American Heiress Trilogy Book 1)

by Julianne MacLean

  Sophia took a deep, calming breath. “I see. Well, I won’t disturb her, then. Perhaps I will go and see what Marion is up to.”

  She smiled and headed back up the stairs, forcing herself to walk slowly, not run, but as soon as she was out of sight of the housekeeper, she quickened her pace. She reached Marion’s door and knocked urgently.

  Marion answered, looking fatigued. “What is it? What’s going on?” She waved Sophia inside.

  “Do you know where Lily is?”

  “No, I’ve been here all morning. Did she not come to the luncheon table?”

  Sophia guided Marion toward a chair. “You’d better sit down. I’m afraid something terrible might have happened.”

  The dowager went pale.

  “There’s no time to waste,” Sophia said. “I will be blunt. I just came from Lily’s room, and she is gone.”

  “What do you mean, gone?”

  “Her gowns are missing from her wardrobe, and Mrs. Bealer told me that Lily had sent her maid into the village this morning. What if.... What if she has run off and done something foolish?”

  Marion twisted and wrung a handkerchief she held on her lap. “No, she would never do anything like that.”

  Sophia knelt before her. “We must assume the worst and do what we can to find her.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “If only James were here. Why did he choose this day, of all days, to be in London?”

  Marion clutched at Sophia’s sleeves. “We have to send for him. What about a telegram?”

  “Yes, indeed. A telegram. We’ll ask him to return home immediately, that it’s a matter of utmost importance.” Sophia rose to her feet. She crossed to the door, but stopped to look back at her mother-in-law, who was now weeping. “Pray that I am mistaken about this, Marion. Perhaps Lily has simply gone off for a long walk somewhere to be alone.”

  Marion shook her head. “I know my daughter. She has her father’s mad blood running through her veins. I fear the worst.”

  Chapter 26

  Exhausted and weary from his journey, James stepped out of the coach. He ran up the steps of Wentworth Castle, taking two at a time, and entered the hall, handing his greatcoat to the butler as he passed. “Where is the duchess? I must see her immediately.”

  “In the drawing room, Your Grace.”

  James strode across the hall. The telegram had been disturbingly vague and frantic, and he had entertained all sorts of unpleasant thoughts on the train. Was Sophia ill or injured? Perhaps it was his mother....

  James left Martin at the house in London with instructions to carry out the investigation regarding Pierre Billaud. Martin had in his possession a brief list of names of people who had known their father and would have knowledge of Genevieve. James—wanting to know the true connection between Pierre and Genevieve—had laid all his trust in his younger brother. Martin seemed grateful to have been given a purpose. He had wished James luck as he walked out the door.

  Heart pounding uncharacteristically fast, James entered the drawing room where his wife was sitting on the chintz sofa. It was like something out of a dream—a strange, unsettling dream, for she was weeping.

  Onto Whitby’s shoulder.

  James halted and Sophia looked up. Her eyes were red and swollen. “James, you’re back!” She got up from the sofa and crossed toward him. “Thank goodness.”

  The fact that Whitby stood but kept his distance on the opposite side of the room was not lost on James. He gazed down at his wife’s troubled expression, then over her shoulder at his friend. “What is going on here?”

  “You received my telegram?” Sophia asked.

  “Yes, that’s why I returned.” He frowned at Whitby. “Why are you here?”

  Whitby took an uneasy step forward, as if he didn’t know quite how to answer the question.

  Sophia reached for James’s hand. “He’s here because I sent for him. I needed help, and he was nearby, I didn’t know when you would arrive. You never replied to the telegram, and last time, you stayed away for a month.”

  “I didn’t reply because I was busy getting on a train.”

  She shook her head as if to dismiss what was a meaningless quarrel, then turned to Whitby. “Would you excuse us? I must speak with James alone. We’ll go to the library. Please, Whitby, have another cup of tea.”

  James followed her. “What the devil is happening?” he asked, as soon as they were out in the hall. “You both look like someone has died.”

  Sophia put a finger to her lips to hush him until they reached the library. They entered and she closed the double doors behind them. “I’m very relieved that you’re back, James. Something terrible has happened. You might want to sit down.”

  “I prefer to stand.” He had no patience left. He had just walked in on his wife weeping onto another man’s shoulder. James wanted to know the truth. “Your message was urgent. Why?”

  How was she to begin, Sophia wondered, gazing with apprehension at her husband’s concerned face. She moved slowly to the center of the room.

  “There is a great deal I need to tell you, and there is no easy way to say it, so I’ll just come out with it. Your mother confessed something to me not long ago, something to do with your family. There is a secret that you do not know about.”

  James’s eyes darkened, but Sophia would not be daunted.

  “It’s about your father. This may come as a surprise to you, but your mother…. Your mother was not his only wife.”

  James put his hand up to halt Sophia. “Wait just a moment. You sent for me, insisted I return from London immediately, to tell me this?”

  “Well...yes...but—”

  “I’ve known for years about my father’s scandalous first wife. What I didn’t know was that my mother knew about her.” He shook his head with disbelief. “And she told you?”

  “Yes.”

  He drew back in surprise. “How in God’s name did you ever get her to admit something like that? No, wait, you don’t need to tell me. You have a gift. You know how to get under people’s skin.”

  She stood motionless, not sure of his meaning. Had she just been insulted or paid a compliment?

  “It doesn’t matter why she told me,” Sophia said. “The fact is, there have been developments.”

  “What kind of developments?” He sat down.

  Sophia remained standing. “You know about Genevieve, but do you know about the blackmail?”

  Her husband slowly blinked. “Blackmail? I suggest you explain.”

  Sophia paced across the room, uncertain what this news, coming from her, would do to their marriage. He had known she was keeping something from him, and he had allowed her to keep her secret but now his sister was possibly in the greatest danger of her life, and Sophia might have prevented it.

  All this after the most glorious week with James, when Sophia had let herself believe that there was hope for happiness in her marriage. Hope that her husband would one day grow to love her.

  She felt certain that those hopes would be ground into a fine, dry dust in the next few seconds. “Genevieve has been threatening your mother,” she said directly. “Genevieve claims she has a son who is the true heir to the Wentworth dukedom, and if Marion does not pay her what she asks for, Genevieve will reveal him to the world and take everything away from this family.”

  Sophia watched James for a long time. He did not move from his position on the sofa. All he did was make a fist in one hand. “This is the secret you did not want to tell me?”

  “Yes.”

  “That you believe I have a legitimate half-brother?”

  She nodded.

  The muscles in his jaw clenched. He stood up and walked to the window. “This was not a game, Sophia. You should never have kept such important information from me.”

  Her voice quavered as she tried to explain. “I
didn’t want to keep it from you. I pleaded with your mother to go to you and confess, but she would not.”

  He turned to face her. “You should have come to me! As my wife, you have a duty to me, first and foremost, above all others.”

  Sophia jumped at her husband’s explosive anger. He had never raised his voice to her before, even when he’d thought she was writing love letters to another man.

  “I understand that now,” she said, wringing her hands together in front of her. “Looking back on it, I wish I had. But as you know, my relationship with your mother has not been an easy one. I’ve been lonely here, far from my own family, and I wanted desperately to feel as if I belonged. I wanted your mother to care for me like I was a true daughter, just as I long to care for her as a mother. So, when I made that promise to her—to keep her secret no matter what, before I knew what that secret was—I had no idea what I was agreeing to. Afterward, I felt that I was close to fixing the problems that existed between Marion and me, and she was going to tell you, but you left unexpectedly—”

  “It’s not your place to fix this family,” he said icily. “You are an outsider. You do not understand our history.”

  Sophia felt the sting of his words like a hot iron burning into her soul. She gritted her teeth together. “Perhaps an outsider was exactly what you all needed.”

  He stared at her for a moment, then turned and looked out the window again.

  Sophia wanted to scream. She strode toward him and pulled him around to face her. “What is the matter with you? Have you no heart? Can you not see that this is as painful for me as it is for you? That I want, more than anything, to be a part of this family, yet I must contend with your cool, steely reticence day after day when all I ever wanted was for you to just love me? And now, I feel as if I have spoiled any chance of that ever happening. Because I didn’t tell you what Lily confided, I have put her in danger—and all because of my deep desire to be accepted!”

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, you’ve put Lily in danger?”

  Sophia felt sick. This could not possibly have gone any worse. “Lily is missing.”

  “Missing.”

  “Yes, that was the next thing I was going to tell you. It’s why I sent the telegram.”

  A muscle twitched angrily at James’s jaw and his voice hardened. “I must insist that you explain the rest of this situation to me. Tell me everything.”

  Sophia nodded. “Lily came to me the other night to tell me that she was in love.”

  “In love with whom?” he demanded.

  “Pierre Billaud. The man Genevieve claims is her son.”

  James’s eyes blazed with fury. “Good God! She says Billaud is her son? And Lily has run off with him?”

  “It’s only a suspicion at the moment, but as I said, she is missing, and some of her gowns are gone.”

  He strode toward the door. “Is that why Whitby is here? Did you tell him all this?”

  Sophia followed James out of the library. “Yes, I’m sorry, but I was desperate. I needed help to go to Pierre’s cottage and search the village, and I was afraid to trust any of the servants. I knew Whitby has been your friend for many years. He was the only person I knew to call upon.”

  Returning to the drawing room, James burst through the doors. Whitby stood, looking startled.

  “Did you go looking for her?” James asked.

  “Yes,” Whitby replied, “but she was nowhere. Pierre’s cottage was empty, and Lord Manderlin had no idea where the man had gone or when he left. He disappeared without paying the rent he owed, I might add. Then I searched the village. I was discreet with my questions, I assure you. No one has seen Lily.”

  James turned to Sophia. “How long has she been gone?”

  “Since yesterday morning.”

  “And no one knows anything? Where is her maid?”

  “I’ve already questioned her. She knows nothing.”

  James turned to Whitby. “Thank you for coming.”

  “I am at your disposal, James.”

  James paced the room, thinking. “Does Mother know that Lily is missing?”

  “Yes,” Sophia replied. “She’s been in her room weeping constantly.”

  “How certain are you that Lily went anywhere with Billaud?”

  “Not positively certain, but my instincts tell me that’s what has happened. After she came to me the other night....”

  “What did she say?” James asked.

  “She told me she was in love and she asked me to speak with you about it, to convince you to accept Pierre.”

  “Accept him? What do you mean? As a potential husband?”

  “I believe that’s what she had in mind.”

  James pinched the bridge of his nose. “If everything you have told me is true, he is not only involved with blackmailing our family, but he is our half-brother.”

  “Believe me, I tried to caution her.”

  James looked up. “Clearly Sophia, your counsel was ineffective.”

  She bristled at her husband’s accusing tone, and the animosity that had been snowballing since the end of their honeymoon pounded into her with all the force of an avalanche.

  “This is not my fault, James,” she said crossly. “As you said, I am merely an outsider. Your father’s scandals and your mother’s secrets and this horrendous blackmail—all of it existed before I ever set foot on English soil. None of you would be in this mess if you simply talked to each other!”

  The men were silent, then Whitby made a move toward the door. “Perhaps I will leave you two alone.”

  James held up a hand. “No, Whitby, stay.”

  No one spoke for several seconds. It felt like hours to Sophia, who was breathing fast, fighting to control her anger and frustration.

  James walked toward her and looked into her eyes. His expression changed and became almost somber. “Perhaps, Sophia,” he slowly said, “you are right.”

  Sophia gazed up at him in disbelief. Had she heard him correctly?

  “There have been too many secrets,” James continued, “skeletons in the cupboard that no one has been brave enough to openly acknowledge, and we are in a bloody horrible mess because of it.”

  A raw wave of emotion washed over Sophia. At last, James had heard what she’d been trying to tell him all along. It was not quite an apology for everything that had gone wrong between them, and it was nothing close to a declaration of love, but it was something.

  His concession made her heart lurch with painful longing. How she wanted all this resolved and put behind them. She wanted Lily returned to them, safe from harm. She wanted Marion to stop crying. She wanted to break through the dogged barrier her husband had forged between them.

  James faced Whitby. “We need a plan.”

  Whitby spread his hands wide. “I’m all for it. Where do we begin?”

  Chapter 27

  A heavy rain had just begun when James entered his mother’s boudoir. She was seated in a chair by the fireplace, a blanket on her lap and a handkerchief to her nose. She wore a dressing gown and nightcap. Her eyes were puffy and red.

  Her window was open and powerful gusts of wind blew the white lace curtains into the room. Rain was getting in, so James strode quickly to shut the window. Then he turned to look at his mother.

  He had never seen her look so distraught. Something tugged at his heart, which was an unfamiliar sensation in reference to his mother, and he marveled at it.

  After crossing toward her, James knelt on the floor and placed his hand upon hers. It was cold and marked with age spots and blue veins. He stared at it for a few seconds, realizing that he had never touched her hand before. At least not in recent memory.

  “I’m home, Mother,” he said.

  She lifted her weary eyes. “I see that, but you’re too late. We are ruined James, and it’s
all my fault.”

  “We are not ruined.”

  “Lily certainly will be. That’s if we ever see her again.”

  He squeezed his mother’s hand. “I will do my best to prevent that from happening and you have my word that you will see her again. I’m going to find her and bring her home.”

  “How? How will you ever find her? Whitby went searching already, and he found nothing, not even a clue about where they might have gone.”

  “That’s why I am here. You must permit me to see the letters from Madame La Roux. All of them.”

  Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Sophia told you?”

  “Yes, but I already knew about Father’s first marriage, as well as what continued to go on between them while he lived. It was no great surprise to hear of it.”

  Her brow furrowed with horror and shame. “Did you know she was blackmailing me?”

  “That, unfortunately, I did not know about, but I wish you had told me. I would have put an end to it. I would have spared you all these years of angst and fretfulness. Why did you not tell me?”

  She raised the kerchief to her eyes and dabbed at the corners. Her voice was shaky. “You were just a child when it began. I knew I could never protect you from him, but I could at least protect your dukedom, and save you from scandal. By the time you were old enough to understand or do anything about it, I was entrenched. I was accustomed to receiving the letters and sending what she asked for. I didn’t want to upset the arrangement because I was afraid of what she might do. On top of that, I never felt I could confess the truth to you. I feared you would hate me more than you already did. I feared you would be like your father and react with a temper.”

  James bowed his head. After a moment, he felt the unfamiliar sensation of his mother’s hand upon his hair, gently stroking.

  How many times, when he was a child, had he wished he could run to her and do just this?

  “You never had to fear me, Mother,” he said. “I would never have raised a hand to you. I made it my purpose in life to suppress that part of my nature.”

  She continued to sniffle as she stroked his hair. “I was wrong about you, James. I can see it now, with my own eyes, how deeply Sophia cares for you, and that has made me realize that you could not possibly be anything like your father.”