The Duke of Morewether’s Secret

by Amylynn Bright

  “Don’t know precisely.” Thomas was never one to sidestep Christian’s fits of temper. “We were all rather agog, and she managed to slip away.”

  “I feel awful.” Francesca wasn’t much of a hand-wringer, but she was doing it now.

  “What in God’s name am I to do with that child?” The alcohol was flowing much smoother now, and Christian felt like he was slurring ever so slightly. Perhaps he should slow a bit.

  “She is yours.” His mother didn’t pose the question, she stated it as fact.

  “Yes.” There was no use denying it. The child had the Belling nose and cheekbones. As obvious as the child was Veronica’s, Lucy was also clearly his.

  “Her mother is worthless.” His own mother punctuated her words with her index finger in the air. “I’ll never see another of her plays. Mark my words.”

  “Obviously, Mother, but what is to be done with the child?” Francesca flopped in chair. “I can’t help but feel terrible for the poor thing, her mother abandoning her like that.”

  The child had been towed away with wide-eyes by the housekeeper, whisked to a bedroom with her pitifully small satchel of belongings. Lucy’s gaze had stayed on him for as long as she could, giant blue eyes watched him with what? Expectation?

  “It serves no one for that witch to embarrass the family by airing your dirty laundry.” His mother rubbed her temples with her thumbs in slow circles. “Clearly, you need to find a school and send her off as soon as possible. There’s no other solution.”

  Anna slapped her hand flat on an end table. “This is a disaster. You realize the only thing important to Thea is family? She has embraced her illegitimate brothers beyond what anyone could ever expect. If you send that child off to school —”

  “What else can I do?” Christian gave an exaggerated shrug. “Damn it.”

  Thomas circled back around with the bottle of Scotch. Christian waved him off. No More. He needed to keep his wits about him. Anna was right. This was a disaster. “Where did Thea go?” He addressed the question to Anna since she knew her better than anyone. Probably even him, and he was officially her husband.

  “I assume she went home. I saw her talking with Lucy and then, when I turned back around, she was gone. She didn’t say anything to anyone.”

  Instead of pulling the bell for the butler, Christian bellowed. “Riley.”

  The door opened instantly. “Your Grace?”

  “When did my wife leave?”

  “Perhaps forty-five minutes ago. You were in here with the other woman.”

  “In my carriage?”

  “No, Your Grace. She refused the carriage. I believe she walked.” The butler took a quick visual swipe around the room. “Shall I have tea sent up?”

  “Yes, do.” His mother’s headache appeared to be getting worse based on her pained expression.

  “I can’t stay here and drink tea with you. I need to go to her.” Christian headed for the door with determination.

  Anna followed after him. “I urge you to take care, Christian. I believe you’ve hurt her more than you suspect.”

  It seemed his friends and family followed him everywhere in a pack, like stray dogs following the butcher. When he turned abruptly to ask Anna what exactly she meant, the whole herd of them bunched at the door, listening raptly, making no attempt at hiding their interest.

  He rolled his eyes. “I’ll go and explain. She’ll understand.”

  Anna pursed her lips. “I don’t think anything you say will make her understand.”

  “She loves me. It’ll be fine.” Dear God, please let it be fine. He was maintaining an outer calm, but inside he was panicking. She’d left without a word, not a single word. No matter how many ways he worked that over in his head it never ended in his favor.

  Anna shook her head and reached out for his arm. “Take care with her.”

  “She’s my wife,” he told her and the rest of the eavesdroppers, “Of course I’ll take care with her.”

  “Miss Ashbrook is not receiving.”

  Christian was going to beat the footman senseless. For five minutes he’d been standing at her front door and her man was refusing to allow him entry. “She is not Miss Ashbrook. She’s the Duchess of Morewether.”

  The man gave a stiff nod of understanding. “Either way, she’s not receiving.”

  “You understand who I am?” Christian heard his voice rising.

  The footman gave him a blank stare. Of course he knew who he was. He’d been in and out of Thea’s house for weeks. Nevertheless, the man gave not one glimmer of recognition.

  “I am her husband. The Duke of Morewether.” Christian felt like an idiot.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” The man blinked at him but still did not move one inch away from the door.

  “I want in.”

  “The Duchess of Morewether is not receiving.”

  Well at least he got her name right this time. “Fine. Will you at least tell me if she’s at home?”

  That gave the footman pause. Christian watched while the man decided exactly how much he wanted to disclose. “The lady is in residence, but she is not receiving.”

  “So you said.”

  Did she need time? Maybe a few hours to let the idea settle? “Tell my wife I’ll be back.”

  “As you wish, Your Grace.”

  “If it was as I wished, then I wouldn’t be standing out here, now would I?” Christian stepped back. “I appreciate your loyalty to your mistress, and that’s why I’m not pressing this issue.”

  He went to his club. Then left five minutes later. He certainly wasn’t going back home. Too many questions. Instead he wandered around the British Museum, paying special attention to the Greek exhibits. Five hours of busts and mosaics. He thought a great deal about what to do with his newly-revealed daughter. A school was clearly the best option, but that wasn’t going to happen overnight. If he’d learned nothing from his efforts getting Thea’s brothers into school it was that there was bureaucracy involved. The only thing in his favor with that particular endeavor was that he knew boy’s schools having been to one himself. Sadly, his expertise was seriously lacking in girl’s schools and even less about how to train a child for an occupation.

  Somewhere near a giant slab of marble from the Parthenon it occurred to him what the child needed was a governess. He would hire a governess post haste and send them both to a county estate until school was arranged. There the woman could catch the child up on whatever education she was surely lacking and amend the atrocious manners her wanton mother had instilled in her. When he and Thea came home from their honeymoon in Greece, he could see to an appropriate school.

  He took a hackney straight away to an employment agency and arranged for several young women to be interviewed on the morrow. With a great, lung-clearing sigh, the tension eased from Christian’s shoulders and back. What a relief to have the catastrophe resolved. Surely, by now, Thea would have calmed and would see reason. There was an explanation. Of course there was.

  He’d get it all sorted out on the hackney ride back to Mayfair.

  Everything was going to be fine. He was certain of it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The damn footman would still not permit him entrance. It was untenable. Christian had been sitting outside his wife’s townhouse for three hours. That’s the best description he had for the fact he’d been sitting, pacing and prowling around outside her home since he’d returned before dark. Now the last of the day’s rays had sunk behind the neighbor’s roofs and the lamplighter was making his rounds. London was settling into evening.

  He’d had plenty of time to think about what he was going to say to her when he finally attained an audience with his beloved. He firmly believed that the only way to get back into her good graces was to stay the course. Clearly she was angry. He understood why. He supposed he should have told her about the child, but there seemed little point since he’d believed her to be dead. He’d never even seen the girl.

  He wondered
if Veronica really had heard about his wedding and decided to make her scene on that specific day? Or had it been some unholy coincidence? He wouldn’t put it past the woman. She did love nothing more than creating a scene, even if it was at the expense of everyone around her. She was a beautiful woman who’d been spoiled by the fact men did almost anything for her in an effort to woo her. Their end of their affair had been especially nasty, like few he’d had since, the dress-burner notwithstanding.

  The front door opened and Christian jumped to his feet. At last she was coming to her senses. Sadly, the doorway was not filled by his beautiful wife, but instead the young footman whose grimace hadn’t changed since their first conversation earlier in the afternoon.

  “Now?” Christian asked.

  “Her Grace is still not receiving.” How the footman continued to repeat that ridiculous phrase after all this time without laughing was beyond Christian. “I was merely verifying you were still here, Your Grace.”

  “Indeed.” Christian nodded solemnly. “I’ve moved my position to the planter there.” He pointed to his left.

  The footman poked his head around the jamb and noted where Christian had indicated but did not relinquish his mastery of the doorway. “I see. Would you like me to bring you some tea?”

  Surprised by the servant’s sudden change in attitude, Christian didn’t answer right away. “I’d rather prefer a pint or perhaps a good belt of whiskey. Any hope of that?”

  “I’ll see what I can find, Your Grace.” With that, the door closed and the bolt drew home. It was rather amusing the man continued bolting the door even after Christian had made no effort whatsoever to force his way into the house. Moments later, the door opened again and the footman emerged with a glass of brandy on a silver tray.

  “Nice. Any chance I can enjoy this in a comfortable chair in a parlor?”

  “I’m so sorry, Your Grace, but —”

  “Her Grace is not receiving,” Christian finished the man’s sentence with a wry smile, then added, “You don’t sound especially sorry.”

  The footman nodded and gave the slightest shrug of his straight shoulders. “I’ll check back later, Your Grace.”

  “You do that.” Christian settled his rear back on the planter. He suspected he was going to be waiting a long time indeed. Obviously, he’d seriously underestimated the ire of his wife. That was fine. He’d wait her out. He couldn’t countenance all this waiting — he was certain she was well aware of how long he’d been out there — and it surely was scoring him some points.

  Two hours later he was wondering if the footman was going to make another appearance and offer a snack of some sort. He’d missed dinner during this war of wills and his stomach was grumbling. Walking along the walk and stamping his right leg to wake it up, he saw a carriage round the corner and pull to a stop in front of him.

  “Hi ho!” The door of the carriage flew open and Thomas emerged. “I thought I might find you here when you weren’t at home. How long have you been here?”

  Christian pulled out his watch. “Forever.”

  “How long are you planning to stay, waiting for your wife to speak to you?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. All night maybe. I don’t want her to think I’ve given up. I’ll wait here forever until she lets me explain.”

  “Ah. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  Thomas chuckled. He signaled to the coachman who clambered to the top of the vehicle and lowered a small table and two chairs. Out of the carriage Thomas pulled a picnic basket. “I have rations.”

  The chairs and table were assembled next to his planter. The basket was a Godsend: cold chicken, several wedges of cheese, slabs of buttered bread, grapes and some biscuits. Lastly, he brought forth two thick glass bottles, wire wrapped around the corks.

  Christian grinned wide. “You brought ale.” Thomas did his own brewing at his country estate and had it shipped to London periodically.

  “I also brought cards.” Thomas produced a deck of cards and a cribbage board from his jacket pocket.

  “And this —” Christian gestured with his arm encompassing all the treasures his friend brought with him “— is why you will forever be my finest chum.”

  “That and so few people will put up with your pompousness.”

  He contemplated that statement over a morsel of cheese. “I fear that number is growing smaller by the hour.”

  Thomas nodded sagely. “Steady on. She’ll come around eventually.”

  Pulling the cork from a bottle of ale using his teeth, Christian grunted. A loud pop signaled success. “I sure hope so. I’ll be honest, I was beginning to lose heart when you showed up.”

  “I’ll keep you company then for a while.”

  That’s where the footman found them when he opened the door hours later.

  “Let me guess. The lady is still not receiving?” Christian laughed heartily, feeling a bit cavalier after so many hours.

  The footman ignored the question and the resulting laughter. “Does Your Grace plan to stay on the lawn indefinitely?”

  “I’m not leaving until she sees me. I’ll not give her the chance to ignore me completely.”

  The footman nodded briefly at the gentlemen, taking in the lantern on the table and the cribbage board in mid-game.

  “She does know I’m still out here, doesn’t she?”

  Again, the footman nodded. “Good night then, Your Grace, My Lord.” He turned back into the house and Thomas blinked in surprise when they heard the bolt shoot home.

  “He’s been locking the door tight each time as if I’m going to burst through and make a scene.” Not that he hadn’t contemplated it now and again as the day had progressed so fruitlessly.

  Thomas turned back to the game and laid his hand on the wood. “Fifteen two, fifteen four, and a run is eight.” He moved his peg accordingly then leaned back against the chair. “Do you really plan to stay here all night?”

  “I plan to stay here all night tonight and all day tomorrow and so forth till the woman allows me to explain.”

  “Not even I knew you had a by-blow.” Was his friend hurt?

  Christian shrugged. He hadn’t talked about it with anyone at the time, not the pregnancy, not paying Veronica off, and certainly not when the child had supposedly died. He’d been embarrassed, then angry, and finally oddly sad. By the time Veronica told him his baby was dead, there seemed no point in rehashing the whole miserable affair, not even with his best friend.

  “Well, in truth, I think you have a hell of a battle before you. I’ve certainly angered your sister a time or two, but I’ve never been in this deep. Ever.” Thomas helpfully punctuated his statement with a low whistle.

  Christian tossed his cards on the table. He removed his hat and tossed it on the table as well. He scrubbed his fingers through his hair and sighed mightily. “I know.” He shook his head. “I have to believe I can make her understand.”

  “Well, if any of us can, it will be you. If this was common knowledge, I’d put my pounds on you at White’s. As it is, there’s no way the ton isn’t going to find out about this mess if you continue to sit outside her house, eating from picnic baskets on a card table day after day.”

  “I appreciate your support. Really, I do. Still, you can be assured that scenario is out. Our ship leaves tomorrow night for Greece. If I don’t get her to see reason before then, I will have her captive for weeks on end. Besides, I have governesses to interview in the morning. All part of the solution.”

  Eventually, his best friend went home. After all, he had a wife to go home to who was currently speaking to him, even if she was Christian’s sister. He sent him home with the table and chairs. It was one thing to be sitting out in the yard like an idiot when it was dark out, but another thing entirely when the morning riders headed to the park.

  When the sun rose, he made a concerted effort not to feel sorry for himself. It hadn’t been exactly the way he’d wanted to spend his wedding night. He’d
planned an absurdly romantic night, for all it was worth. He actually felt stupid about all the plans now. What the hell was he going to do with three pounds of rose petals?

  When the minute hand reached nine o’clock, He levered himself off the planter and banged once on the great front door with the massive knocker.

  The footman bowed his head slightly. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

  “I’ve come to call on my wife.”

  The servant paused for exactly one heartbeat before he said, “I’m sorry, Her Grace is not receiving this morning.”

  He couldn’t resist. “Oh? Is she not feeling well? Perhaps I should call my physician.”

  “That is not necessary,” the doorman said without even a hint of humor.

  Christian settled his hand high on the door frame and leaned in close to the man. “So tell me. Is Her Grace not receiving anyone or just not receiving me?”

  “Messengers have come and gone.”

  Apparently she had a lot to say, just not to him. “I have errands to run. Important errands. I am loath to leave my post, you understand, but there are things that must be taken care of before we leave this evening.”

  “I’m not sure what you are asking of me, Your Grace.”

  Christian looked hard at the man with Ducal Glare #1. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was asking either. “Don’t let her go anywhere.”

  “You’re not asking me to keep the lady of this house captive.” The footman didn’t ask; he stated.

  “Well, no. It sounds absurd when you say it like that. Just keep her in the house until I can get back.”

  “Captive.”

  The duke clenched his jaw and exhaled out of his nose in a huff. “No.”

  With an exceedingly dry tone and a look of complete and total irony, the footman replied, “I’ll pass on your concerns to Her Grace.”

  “I’ll be back by eleven.” He settled his hat firmly on his head.

  “I’ll keep your planter warm, Your Grace.”

  Thea watched the exchange between her husband and her footman though a sheer curtain. She was surprised when Christian turned from her front door, strode along the walk and off along the street. After nearly twenty-four hours, where was he going? But then, what did she care? At least he was going.