He’d have his duchess, all right. A frigid, hardhearted harridan of his creation brought about by the reprisal he demanded. She’d make sure he was as miserable as she, and there’d be no more willing kisses or anything else. Perchance, she’d stipulate they didn’t reside in the same house.
Mouth pursed, she blew out a wobbly sigh before sitting up. Not only would she hate Maxwell, in time, she feared she’d come to despise herself too. For it wasn’t her nature to be vindictive and unforgiving.
She peered over her shoulder at her twin.
Ophelia sat up, but her face remained twisted in indignation as she worried her lower lip.
“Will you come with me to talk to Grandmama and Grandpapa? I don’t think I can approach them with these ugly allegations alone.” Cowardliness was foreign to Gabriella. Nonetheless, assertions such as these…Well, they weren’t easy accusations to make. “I feel an absolute traitor,” she confided. “I know beyond a doubt, it will break their hearts, and neither is as strong as they once were.”
At once, Ophelia pulled her into a fierce embrace. “Of course, dearest. Of course I shall. You may think there’s no other recourse but for you to marry Pennington, but I’m not ready to quit the field quite yet. Perhaps Grandpapa has an explanation or a remedy. Mayhap there’s a way out of this conundrum that you haven’t thought of.”
“Such as?” There was no way out.
Waggling her winged eyebrows, Ophelia gave a wicked wink. “What about poison in his wine? Loosening his saddle’s girth? A fall down the stairs?”
“Shall I bring the shovel, or will you?” Permitting a rueful smile, Gabriella gathered her scattered thoughts and emotions. “Let me freshen up, and we’ll go below. Pray to God the shock doesn’t overwhelm our grandparents.”
Fifteen minutes later, Gabriella had settled comfortably in the parlor, her favorite room at Hartfordshire Court. The sun shone through a beveled-leaded glass window, adorning the chamber in a myriad of miniature rainbows. A hearty fire snapped and popped in the hearth framed by a carved mahogany mantel. The outdated furnishings, intended for comfort rather than to impress, gave the chamber a welcoming ambiance.
As she curled her legs beneath her in her usual corner of the blue and gold-striped brocade sofa opposite the fireplace, she examined the room with a fresh eye.
She’d read dozens, probably hundreds, of books in this very spot. Birthdays and Christmastide had been celebrated here as well. She still remembered being a frightened five-year-old and her grandmother’s soft arms embracing her as she whispered soothing, reassuring words in her ear despite her own grief at having lost her son and daughter-in-law so tragically.
Now Gabriella’s newfound knowledge tainted the comforting room. Had the house been furnished when Grandpapa acquired the estate? If not, where had the funds to purchase the furnishings and everything else in the house come from? What about the monies to send her and Ophelia to school? To buy their clothing? Did the sale of the cattle truly provide enough capital to live on?
Were there more dark secrets yet to be revealed?
So much doubt plagued her when once there’d been absolute trust. She wanted to shout at the unfairness, but histrionics and emotional outbursts served no purpose. She’d seen the unyielding granite hardness of Maxwell’s jaw. Recognized the flinty ruthlessness in his steely gaze. He was a man bent on vengeance.
Come hell or highwater.
That was what he’d vowed months ago, and he’d kept his word.
True, it was beyond her comprehension to understand the kind of hatred and animosity that motivated a man to go to the extremes for revenge that he had. But she had been raised in a loving home with caring grandparents, whereas he’d never known kindness or affection. While it was true her grandfather was reluctant to part with his coin, she and her sister had never lacked for essentials, including love.
Sorrow pinched her heart, and she blinked away the sting of hot tears. Had this life been based on a lie? Was all of this, she glanced around the cozy room once more, a lie too?
Despite the robust fire, a shiver skittered down her spine. Just how soon did Maxwell expect the wedding ceremony to take place? Three months ago, she would’ve been over the moon to think she’d gained the attention of a much-sought after gentleman. A man who’d captivated her since their first meeting.
He’d been right about their mutual attraction, though she’d chew shoe leather rather than confess such idiocy to him. There had been something sparking and sizzling between them before he trampled it unmercifully on this path of retribution.
Bearing a tea tray, Ophelia entered, followed by their grandmother, looking much recovered from her bout of ill-health. Her silver-threaded hair twisted into a tidy knot at the back of her head, Grandmama wore her gray gown trimmed in burgundy braid today.
Once Ophelia placed the tray on the low tea table, she promptly set about pouring the fragrant brew. Ah, new tea leaves, and even two kinds of biscuits. A rare treat indeed.
Gabriella caught her sister’s eye and sent her an appreciative smile.
A moment later, Grandpapa shuffled into the parlor. Purplish half-moon shadows darkened the skin below his eyes and weariness etched his beloved face, deepening the many craggy creases. Almost three and seventy, he’d aged much this past year. He’d lost weight too.
Did the secrets and guilt he bore haunt him? Rob him of sleep and peace and his appetite? Well, at least he’d be able to rest easier now, once the truth was aired. Secrets ate away at a person. Gabriella would’ve preferred to have this ugliness kept hidden, despite the cathartic effect of confessing.
“What’s this?” He motioned toward the tea service, in the tiniest hint of disapproval at the extravagance. “New tea leaves and two types biscuits,” his taut eyebrows said.
“Shush, Harold,” Grandmother admonished gently. “We didn’t have a birthday celebration for the girls. I think they’re deserving of an extra dainty.”
He harrumphed but helped himself to a ginger biscuit. “You asked to speak to your grandmother and me, Gabriella?” Wearing the same faded walnut-brown suit he’d donned for years, he assumed his usual place in the parlor, the wingback chair angled slightly away from the fireplace and which afforded him the window light as well.
With an unexpectedly grateful smile, he accepted the cup Ophelia handed him. Once Grandmama had her tea and a Shrewsbury biscuit in hand, her sister picked a seat on the sofa beside Gabriella.
His bald pate shining from the fire’s and the sunlight’s reflection, Grandpapa quirked a wiry gray eyebrow. “Well, what has you both looking like you have a case of the blue devils? Did a beau fail to pay you proper attention last evening?” He straightened, his faded gaze flicking between the twins. “I say, did something untoward occur at the music party last evening?”
Gabriella hid a wince. He couldn’t know.
Before she could answer, he turned his faded gaze on Grandmama. “We’d best send a chaperone along from now on, Irene.” Who? The maid of all work? “We wouldn’t want the chinwags targeting our girls.”
Our girls. Yes, she and her sister had been their girls for these past fifteen years, and Gabriella hadn’t a doubt what she was about to say would crush her grandparents. Either because they revealed the truth, or because she mistrusted them enough to put forth the harsh questions.
Summoning her resolve, she wrapped both hands around the teacup, savoring the warmth. She hadn’t realized how chilled she’d become. Could it be that bitterness had already begun to turn her heart cold? Could resentment truly do so that swiftly? A shiver tip-toed across her shoulders at the wretched thought.
God, what a miserable future she faced.
Yes, but my family will be secure.
With a boldness that astounded her, she lifted her head and peered squarely into her grandfather’s eyes. “Grandpapa, the Duke of Pennington claims he has evidence that you cheated his grandfather at cards and blackmailed the sixth duke into selling you Hartfordshire Court
.” She rushed on before he could interrupt. “Pennington will join us for dinner at seven of the clock tonight. He’s demanding you settle Hartfordshire on me as a dowry and that I marry him to keep the scandal quiet.”
The shattering of china wrenched a gasp from Ophelia. “Grandmama!”
Gabriella’s attention flew to her grandmother. Pale as death, Grandmama held a quaking hand over her mouth as she stared aghast at her husband of almost five-and-forty years.
“I told you it was too great a risk, Harold,” she whispered hoarsely. “I told you.”
His jaw stiff and eyebrows forming a harsh vee, Grandpapa set his teacup down. It rattled and clanked, sloshing tea over the rim into the saucer. Shoulders slumped, chin tucked to his chest, he covered his eyes with one gnarled hand.
It’s true.
God above, was everything Maxwell claimed true?
By the reaction of her beloved grandparents, a great deal of what she’d suggested must be. Hands shaking, she set her teacup down too. More from a need to do something, she rose and after tossing a serviette upon the puddle of tea, gathered the broken china and set the pieces atop the table.
She mopped up the tea as best she could, the whole while a righteous anger she didn’t know she could feel toward her grandparents burgeoned in her middle. The emotion welled ever higher and higher until she climbed to her feet and whispered accusingly, “How could you have done something so despicable? Didn’t you consider the long-term consequences?”
Tears sliding down her papery cheeks, Grandmama shook her head and fumbled for the handkerchief in her sleeve. “He did it for me. Everything was for me.”
Struggling for control, Gabriella slowly sank upon the sofa’s arm. “Grandpapa cheated at cards and blackmailed the sixth Duke of Pennington for you? I do not understand—”
“May he burn in hell,” Grandpapa snarled. “I’d cheat him again, and I’d blackmail him again too. I’d do it over and over and over a thousand times for what that devil put Irene through.” He pointed a shaking finger at his wife. “She was the duchess’s companion, and that spawn of Satan forced himself upon her.”
Gabriella felt every bit of color leave her face as a peculiar iciness and a wave of light-headedness engulfed her. She exchanged a horrified glance with her twin, and could see her own shock reflected in her sister’s eyes. “Are you saying…?” Oh God, Gabriella could barely form the foul words. “That he took liberties with Grandmama, and that’s why you cheated at cards and blackmailed him?”
“That’s precisely what I’m saying.” Bitterness dripping from each word, he slouched in his chair, looking old and defeated and feeble beyond description. “A peer always escapes justice for his crimes. Nevertheless, by God, I made certain that Benedict, the inglorious sixth Duke of Pennington paid a price.”
“But,” she blurted, scarcely able to comprehend what she’d heard. “He was married. In fact, that’s one of the reasons the current duke is so angry. He claims his grandfather resorted to drink and laudanum after his wife died. He blames you for her death and that of their unborn child as well. Possibly the spare heir.”
“Horseshit!” Grandpapa banged both fist upon the chair’s arms, then slammed them down again. “That’s utter horse. Shit.”
The women gasped in unison. Grandpapa didn’t curse in the presence of ladies.
“Pennington had a penchant for opium and drink long before I took advantage of his vices,” he practically growled. “His poor wife died of a broken heart, because the bastard swived anything in skirts. Whether the woman was willing or not.”
“Harold,” Grandmama cautioned, her face and posture radiating her unease. “The girls…”
“Nay, I’ll not temper my speech. Neither of the twins is a wilting flower.” Grandpapa jabbed his thumb toward his wife. “Your grandmother wasn’t the first, or the last woman he forced himself on. I’ve no doubt he raped the duchess too.”
Surely Maxwell had no knowledge of this…ghastliness. Fighting the nausea swirling in her belly, Gabriella pressed her fingers between her eyes. “But the duke found his grandfather’s journal. It speaks of two other men involved in the card game and how upset the duchess was when her familial home was lost.”
Grandpapa sat back and folded his hands over his stomach. He nodded gravely but without a hint of remorse. “’Tis true Hartfordshire was the duchess’s ancestral home. I have no compunction about admitting I wanted to inflict as much misery on Pennington as he’d caused your grandmother and me. I do regret the duchess’s sorrow. She was a kind woman deserving of some happiness.”
Grandmama’s soft voice intruded, her eyes slightly unfocused as she gazed blindly out the window to the charming, sundrenched flower garden. These memories obviously distressed her greatly. “You see, my darling girls, Harold and I were betrothed. And after Pennington…” She dragged in a juddery breath. “Well, after he defiled me,” she dabbed at her eyes again, “I found myself with child.”
“Dear God,” Ophelia cried, hurrying to crouch before her grandmother’s knees. “How awful it must’ve been for you all these years as that family is our nearest neighbors.”
“Yes, indeed,” Grandmama acknowledged. “Which is why we’ve stayed so close to home. After a few years of doing so, it became more comfortable than going out.” She closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of her chair. “I knew it was wrong to allow your grandfather to seek vengeance on my behalf. But how I hated Pennington. I craved revenge.”
Her eyelashes trembled before her eyelids swept open, and what Gabriella saw there scoured her soul. The deadness in her cherished grandmother’s eyes nearly drew a sob from her.
“I was glad to do it, Irene. To teach him and those other toffs a lesson,” Grandpapa said. “He deserved everything that happened to him. And more for all of the lives he callously ruined, just because he could.”
Perhaps so, but did the rest of the sixth duke’s family have to suffer the consequences too? Couldn’t Grandpapa see that now she and her sister and even Grandmama were going to reap the cost, much as the duchess, Maxwell’s father, and even Maxwell himself had?
Or did vengeance blind one to all else, make a person disregard everything, so keen was the drive to retaliate? That Maxwell and Grandpapa were capable of such behavior grieved her spirit. In the wake of the visceral emotions, the air had become thick and cloying, the simple, involuntary act of drawing air into her constricted lungs, a monumental task.
“He laughed,” Grandmama murmured, her voice cracking with strain. “After he had his way, and I lay there weeping, he laughed as he tied his robe. I’d told him I was betrothed. Begged him not to…”
Her throat worked convulsively, and Grandpapa swore foully again.
“Irene, you don’t have to do this,” he said with tender solicitude.
“Yes, Harold, I do. The girls need to know the whole of it, most especially before Pennington arrives with his demands. I’d hoped he’d be a better man than his father and grandfather.” She shook her head again. “But it seems the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”
Precisely what Gabriella had said.
Grandmama gave her a sympathetic glance, though Gabriella was quite certain she didn’t want to know the whole of it, she must.
Her expression grave, but admirably valiant, her grandmother went on. “When I threatened to report the duke to the authorities, he laughed again, vowing no one would believe me. That if I dared to be so foolish as to attempt to blacken his name, he’d destroy Harold too. Neither of us would ever work in England again.” She jutted her chin up in defiance, a gesture so like Gabriella, she couldn’t help but see a degree of her own obstinance in her grandmother’s posture.
And she admired the stubborn resilience and show of strength.
“So yes, Gabriella and Ophelia, we plotted and schemed so that when the opportunity arose, we could put the screws to that despicable sod.” That last bit deflated her grandmother, for she too slumped into h
er chair. “But after all these years, the wretch has finally come back to haunt us, as he swore he would.”
Another horrific thought intruded upon Gabriella’s already muddled mind. “Oh, my God. If the old duke impregnated you, that means Pennington is my, my…what? Second, third cousin once removed?”
She’d never been able to keep distant relations straight, but while others might think it perfectly acceptable, the very idea of marrying a cousin appalled her. That alone ought to be sufficient to dissuade Maxwell.
“No, you’re not.” Grandpapa’s harsh voice broke through the anxious silence. “Irene miscarried that child. It nearly killed her, and it took over five years for her to conceive your father.”
Grandmama reached for her husband’s boney, age-spotted hand, and he promptly clasped her fingers. “After Henry was born,” she said, “We came to realize we couldn’t permit our hatred to taint our son. After all, we had Hartfordshire Court, and we determined then to put the ugliness behind us. Not to forgive, because I’m not certain either of us was capable of it, but to forge a new, happier future for ourselves.”
This changed everything. Maxwell must be made aware. He must capitulate when these sordid facts were made known to him, surely. Except… “But what about the taxes, Grandpapa? The duke said you haven’t paid the taxes these many years. The duchy has continued to pay them.”
“As it well should. That was part of the terms of the agreement. I possessed the estate, and the duchy would continue to pay the taxes. I knew bloody well I could never afford to maintain Hartfordshire and pay the taxes too.” He thumped his chair arm again. Poor tormented piece of furniture. “I have the documentation to prove what I say is true. I even made old Pennington put up the blunt for the starter herd of cattle.”
Grandpapa had truly manipulated the duke. Gabriella wasn’t sure whether she was appalled or grudgingly proud.
A rather wicked chuckle rattled his frail chest. “By God, how he swore at me. Called every curse known to God down upon me, and a few I’d never heard before. And yet, so desperate was he for an heir at his age, he acquiesced to my every demand.”
What Would a Duke Do? Page 13
