The Duke's Privateer (Devilish Dukes Book 3)

by Amy Jarecki

  She poured tea for the gentlemen while she listened to them talk.

  “I remember everything with astounding clarity now,” said Papa. “After the explosion, I spent years in darkness—hating myself, thinking I was at fault for something so heinous, it seized my very soul.”

  Mr. Stourton accepted his cup of tea, giving Eleanor a nod of thanks. “Imagine finding out you are a war hero of the highest order.”

  “I’d hardly say that.” Papa swiped a sugared biscuit off the tray. “I’m only happy to hear so many of the crew survived.”

  “I’m simply thrilled to see my father well again.” Eleanor patted his hand and stood. “If you gentlemen wouldn’t mind excusing me, I need to have a word with Cook and let him know there will be another guest for supper. You will be staying, will you not, Mr. Stourton?”

  The gentleman brushed his finger across each side of his moustache, his eyes brightening. “I wouldn’t want to be any trouble.”

  “Not at all. It is a joy to have you here.”

  Eleanor used the servant’s stairs to head for the kitchens, but before she reached the bottom of the stairwell, a bout of heavy breathing stopped her.

  “You are quite a woman,” whispered a man.

  Gasping, Eleanor covered her mouth.

  “You’re too kind, sir.”

  Holy Moses, who is engaging in a rendezvous in the servants’ quarters?

  She pattered down the remaining steps, shocked to find Mrs. Temperance in Weston’s arms.

  “What in heaven’s name is the meaning of this?”

  The pair quickly pulled apart, the housekeeper growing red in the face, clasping her hands beneath her chin, her gaze suddenly fixed on the floor. Weston, on the other hand, grinned like he’d just won the final race at Ascot, without a trace of regret on his weathered features. “Your Grace!” he quipped all too chirpily. “I’ve been meaning to have a word with you. And…ah…I suppose this is as good a time as any.”

  Eleanor blinked in rapid succession, trying not to laugh. In truth, she ought to be aghast, but this pairing was so utterly unlikely, the idea was flabbergasting. “Do explain, and without delay.”

  “You see, I’m quite fond of Mrs. Temperance. And only recently, I’ve come to realize that she is fond of me as well.”

  Fully regaining her composure, Eleanor tipped up her chin. “Am I to understand that is a good excuse for finding two of my most senior servants passionately embracing in a stairwell where they could be seen by, not only me, but any of the underlings who report to them?”

  “Forgive me, Your Grace,” mumbled Mrs. Temperance. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Bloody oath it will happen again.” Weston squared his shoulders and wrenched away one of the housekeeper’s hands, gripping it tightly by his side. “I intend to make her an honest woman.”

  The housekeeper slipped the fingers of her free hand over her heart, her face growing bright as if a sunray were shining on it. “Do you mean…?”

  Weston dropped to his knee. “Marry me, Sophia. Marry me at once.”

  “But we’ll lose our positions.”

  “So says who?” asked Eleanor. “I think it is a fabulous idea, and I’ll speak to Danby about finding suitable accommodations—a cottage on the grounds ought to do nicely.”

  “Oh no, the silver wouldn’t be safe.” Weston stood, keeping his fiancée’s hand secure in his. “My rooms are ample enough for the both of us.”

  Eleanor skirted around them. “Well, then, I’ll leave the pair of you to discuss your plans, but I’d best not catch you in such a compromising position again—not until you’re married.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.

  Eleanor eyed the butler. “May I have a word with you in private?”

  “I’ll go see to folding the linens,” said Mrs. Temperance, bobbing into a youthful curtsey before she skipped away.

  “I know I should have been more discreet, Your Grace, but I see no point in apologizing. I was planning to ask Sophia to marry me and, thanks to you, it is done.”

  Eleanor took his fingers between her palms. “I am truly happy to see you’ve found someone. Truly.” Sighing, she sidestepped toward the passageway to the kitchens. “However, I wanted to inform you that Dr. Roberts will be paying a visit tomorrow afternoon and—”

  Weston startled with a sharp inhalation. “Is all well?”

  “Everything is perfectly fine. The reason I’m telling you is because I do not want anyone to worry. It is simply a female examination and that is all. Please do not mention a word of this to the duke, just quietly escort the doctor to my chamber. There’s no need for any alarm whatsoever.”

  Sher folded his hands atop his waistcoat and listened as Mr. Hobbs gave his monthly account of rents and income. Though not a riveting oration, he always listened intently because these reports enabled Sher to make decisions about his holdings. Sound money management was the most important lesson he had learned in his years at Oxford. He was one of the wealthiest men in England and he did everything possible to ensure he continued to be.

  Distracted by the sound of horses in the courtyard, he rose and moved to the library window.

  Mr. Hobbs stopped for a moment. “Would you like me to continue later?”

  Sher was about to say no when he got a peek at the barouche. “Perhaps tomorrow?” he asked. Not waiting for a reply, he hastened out the door and to the vestibule. He arrived just as Weston began escorting Dr. Roberts up the grand staircase.

  “Please tell me this is a social call,” Sher grumbled, stopping at the foot of the steps, and thrusting his fists onto his hips.

  Weston turned abruptly. “Y-your Grace?” Good God, the man’s voice cracked.

  “Indeed, it is I and, last I checked, I was lord of this castle.”

  The butler shot an apologetic glance in Roberts’ direction before he returned his attention to the duke. “Perhaps we ought to have a quick word, sir.”

  The skin beneath Sher’s collar burned as he watched the doctor continue upward. “Tell me what the devil is going on at once.”

  “Her Grace asked me to keep mum but I—”

  Sher grasped the man’s lapels and shook. “Eleanor? Is she ill? Why the devil didn’t she tell me?”

  “The duchess said it was nothing more than an examination of the female variety. She expressly said she did not want you to concern yourself.”

  “Regardless of what she said, I should have been informed. Do you understand?” Sher released his grip, heading up the stairs, taking two at a time. “Never again keep something of this importance from me!”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” said Weston, on his heels. “I apologize.”

  Sher rounded the landing. “You may have taken explicit direction from Her Grace once before, but you report to me now.”

  When he reached the corridor, Eleanor was already greeting the doctor.

  “Wait right there!” Sher bellowed.

  They both looked his way. “Danby,” said his wife, her hand flying to her chest as she gaped at him and then at Weston.

  “I demand you tell me what is going on this instant.”

  “I assure you, nothing untoward is underfoot,” said Dr. Roberts.

  “Then why was I not informed?”

  Joe moved in, inserting himself in front of Her Grace. “This is my fault. I didn’t want to establish concern where no concern was due.”

  “And why ought I be concerned?”

  Dr. Roberts gestured inside the chamber. “The duchess needs a routine examination, which is exactly what I am here to do,” he said as casually as if he were telling them he was growing tulips in his window boxes.

  Sher gestured inside. “Then I bid you proceed.”

  “These are delicate matters.” The doctor grasped his elbow. “My Lord Duke, why not wait in your chamber and we shall have a word as soon as I’ve finished my work.”

  “Thank you, darling,” said Eleanor, “and would you mind taking Joe with
you?”

  Sher tugged his arm away from the doctor’s grasp and took the hound by the collar. “Put out with the dogs am I now?”

  “Not at all.” Dr. Roberts opened the door between the duke’s and duchess’s rooms. “This is the way of things when you’re married. Now please, give as a moment.”

  By the time the door closed behind him, Sher was fuming. How dare Eleanor summon the doctor without his knowledge?

  He paced the floor, with Joe beside him looking every bit as baffled. “You know as well as I something’s afoot.”

  What if she has a cancer?

  What if she cannot conceive?

  While muffled voices came through the timbers, Sher raked his fingers through his hair. “Even bedamned Weston was in on her little secret.”

  Joe yowled.

  So did Eleanor.

  Sher froze, his heart stopping in his throat.

  Voices came again—chatting as if his wife weren’t about to die.

  The outer door to Her Grace’s chamber opened and closed.

  Sher clenched his fists. “I’ve had quite enough of being in the dark!”

  He marched across the floor and reached for the latch, only to have the door thrown open by his wife.

  And she looked as nervous as a finch—or as happy as a lark, he wasn’t sure which. “I’ve suspected for a time but wanted to be certain before I told you.”

  “Told me what?”

  She smiled, then grimaced, rubbing a hand around her slender stomach. “I’m with child.”

  It took a moment for the news to sink in. He was going to be a father? “You are?”

  She nodded, but something seemed off. Weren’t women supposed to be elated when they received such news? “Are you afraid?” he asked.

  “Oh, Sher,” she said, throwing her arms around him. “Did you mean what you said about not agreeing to our bargain?”

  He smoothed his hands along her spine. “What bargain?”

  “That once I conceive, we live separately.”

  Shrugging out of her embrace, he placed his hands on her hips and took a step back. “Is that what you want?”

  “No, no, no! I may have at one time, but not anymore.”

  “Well then.” He drew her into his arms, hugged her tightly, and kissed her. “I wish never to discuss such a ridiculous notion again.”

  “I cannot believe I am so happy.”

  “Not happier than I.” He picked her up and swung her in a circle, but when she squealed, he abruptly stopped. “Oh, heavens. Have I hurt you? I’m so sorry, darling.”

  “I’m not hurt, not in the slightest.” She tugged him to the settee. “Though…there is something I must tell you.”

  Sher sat beside her. “Have we not heard enough good news for one day? Surely it is too early to determine if we’re having twins.”

  “Good heavens, no.” She pressed her fingers to her lips. “You are aware my father’s estate fell into ruination, and then when he was injured, there was no hope to save it—except…”

  He cupped her cheek. “You did what you felt needed doing. I know. I have forgiven all.”

  “Thank you. I do appreciate your saying so.” Eleanor rubbed her hands on the velvet upholstery. “However, I must share with you that after I paid off Papa’s creditors and ensured there were enough funds to provide for his care, support the town house, and Kingston Manor, I began to put away sums for myself. After all, my dower funds had been depleted long before I was of age and with my distant cousin, a complete stranger, set to inherit, I felt I needed to provide for myself.”

  “Wise of you.”

  “Quite.” She turned a tad green. “You must also agree that our marriage was rushed and did not proceed in ideal circumstances.”

  “We’ve discussed that very fact a number of times.”

  “Yes, well, I wasn’t upfront with you about my holdings because I worried—unfoundedly, mind you—that I might once again find myself destitute.”

  “My dear, you know I cared not a whit about your dowry. If you have put away some money, then I’d like you to enjoy it.”

  “I was rather hoping you might say that.”

  “How much are we speaking of?”

  “Well…” She started counting on her fingers. “There is the gold, and the silver, of course. A handsome sum of notes in pounds sterling. Artifacts—some appraised, most not and more or less priceless. Oh, yes, and I own a ship.”

  Sher recalled the galleon. “The King’s Jewel.”

  “Correct. It is actually registered to Lion’s, but if you look at the company’s articles of incorporation, everything possessed by the little importing company is owned by the chairman of the board—or chairwoman, so to say.”

  “You own a smuggling ship?”

  “We own, dear.” She patted his hand. “Actually, since you are my husband, you own the King’s Jewel. It is a seaworthy vessel equipped with ballasts for shipping Madeira. And mind you, not everything that she has transported has been smuggled, and certainly it hasn’t since we married.”

  Sher eased back on the settee, wiping a hand across his brow. They had departed London rather hastily, which had given Eleanor little time to set her affairs in order. “I would hope not.”

  “And I must stress that Mr. Millward has been managing the legitimate side of the business efficiently for years.” Eleanor patted his arm. “But I digress. As I mentioned, not everything is appraised, but as it were, I can safely say I have put away over two million pounds.”

  “My word.” Sher looked at her lovely, delicate hand resting on his arm. Lovely, delicate, and audaciously resourceful. God, he loved her yet he needed to ensure she was fully committed to her new life with him. “Darling, you are even more enterprising than I’d imagined. Since you have sworn to me you will never again dabble in privateering, I think you ought to have these funds at your disposal—as long as you promise to put them to good use.”

  “That is exactly what I have been considering.”

  “Giving to the Foundling Hospital?”

  “Yes, I am a regular patron. But in addition, I was hoping you might be amenable to establishing a home for unwed mothers.”

  Needing to mull her suggestion over, Sher stroked his chin. This was an awful lot to take in all at once.

  “Let me explain. I’ve been thinking about this for a long while. You see, if Margaret’s mother had been able to have her baby in a safe place where they might help her find employment, then perhaps she wouldn’t have been so desperate to feel she had to abandon the child.”

  “Any woman who would abandon Margaret doesn’t deserve her.”

  “Perhaps. But what if she saw us riding in the park that day? What if she hid the child, ensuring that I would find her, praying the little one would grow up in a fine home with plenty of food?”

  Sher took Eleanor’s hand and kissed it. “You are so very kind. So very thoughtful.”

  “I also know what it is like to be so hungry. It feels like cats are clawing your insides.” She squeezed his fingers fervently. “I wouldn’t wish such poverty on anyone.”

  He pulled her onto his lap and embraced her. How could he, a formerly self-serving duke, have ended up with such an angel? “When we return to London, you may finance a home for unwed mothers—though it had best be run by women who are as kind-hearted as you, my dear.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And I do not want you to be under stress in your condition.” He patted her flat stomach, cinched too tightly by her stays. “You have the heir to the Dukedom of Danby in there.”

  “Or his sister.”

  “Boy or girl, we must put the child’s welfare first.”

  “I would have it no other way.”

  Epilogue

  It was a bright day in May when Frederick Sherborn Price came into this world—instantly dubbed Marquess of Abernathy, a courtesy title, of course. After only eight hours of labor, mother and baby were both well and, within a fortnight, Dr. Roberts pron
ounced them both well enough to venture below stairs for a small family gathering.

  Though Sher was beside her, Eleanor insisted on carrying Freddy to the drawing room herself.

  “There’s my beautiful grandson,” said the dowager duchess as they arrived. “The little lad is as handsome as my Sherborn.”

  Eleanor took a seat beside Margaret.

  “Bro-der,” chirped the child, leaning in and kissing the baby’s cheek. Sher and Eleanor had agreed to tell Margaret that Freddy was her brother until the child was old enough to understand the truth, though that mattered not a whit to either of them. Margaret would have a dowry, would be introduced to society, and would make her way as a gently bred member of polite society.

  Papa’s cane tapped the floor as he came up beside them. “He looks like you, Eleanor.”

  “Do you think so?” she asked, smiling at her father—he’d come so very far in the past year. Dr. Roberts had brought in a specialist who had helped Papa learn to walk again.

  “No, no, no,” argued Her Grace. “He looks exactly like Sherborn did when he was an infant. Mark me, they’ll be two peas in a pod.”

  Sher pulled Margaret into his arms and joined Eleanor on the settee, settling the tot on his lap. “Freddy will have the best from both of us—especially his mother’s intelligence and wit.”

  “Excuse me,” said Weston, bringing in a missive on a silver tray. “I fear this mustn’t wait. It is from the prime minister.”

  Mrs. Weston, as the housekeeper was now called, followed her husband with a much larger tray in her hands. “And I’ve brought a plate of biscuits and a pitcher of lemonade.”

  Sher flagged the butler and took the letter, first examining and breaking the seal, then reading the contents. “Hmm.”

  “Well, what does he have to say?” asked his mother rather impatiently.

  “Confidences, Mama.” Sher gave Eleanor a wink as he folded the missive. “I wonder if Prinny had something to do with the way this is worded.”

  Mama wielded her fan like a saber, pointing it at his chest. “Bless it, Sherborn, we’re all at the edges of our seats. Please give us some inclination of what our prime minister has to say.”