“That is understandable. It is our intent to wipe away all memory of the man from the place and reclaim it as our own. We will rebuild our family’s legacy, upon that you may depend,” Alexander promised.
Thomas stepped forward and smiled down at her. “There is something of note that my mother used to say before she died. We were always miserable growing up under our father’s rule. We would go to her and threaten to run away. She would smile sadly, take us into her arms, and say that blood did not a home make, but love. Then she would ask where in the world would we ever find as much love as she held in her heart for us. The answer of course was that there was no such place.”
“A wise woman,” Felix murmured.
“Yes, she was. You see, she wanted us to realize that in this cruel world we still had a safe place with her. That no matter the hardships we might have endured, that there was still someone who loved us. Had we fled from our family’s legacy, we would have been deprived of witnessing that love. Do not choose the lonely, loveless path, dear sister. You believe it to be safer, easier, but it is not. For in our love you will always find a home, a safe place.” The brothers all nodded in unanimous agreement.
Thomas’s words brought tears to Marybeth’s eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He nodded, smiled, then all seven brothers filed out of the library leaving a giant void where they had once stood. Marybeth nearly called them back to her but refrained from doing so for fear of making a fool of herself blubbering. She turned her eyes to the remaining men.
Oliver smiled down at her and winked roguishly, “You have family here too,” he promised. He dropped a kiss on the top her head.
“Yes, she does,” replied Felix his eyes never leaving her face.
Oliver grinned knowingly at the Duke, then left the room, dragging Mr. Wheatly with him. Marybeth turned and met Felix’s eyes. “The Earl threatened to kill you if I did not leave you in Bath,” she whispered. “I would never had left you otherwise.”
“I know,” Felix replied, smoothing the hair back from her face.
“Can you ever forgive me for leaving your mother thus?”
“I already have.” Felix placed a kiss on the palm of her hand.
“How is the Dowager Duchess?”
“She was poisoned by Bredon and Mrs. Snow, but she is recovering. Mrs. Taylor and I were able to save her in time.”
“Mrs. Snow?” Marybeth questioned in surprise.
“She and Bredon were lovers.”
“Oh, my…” Marybeth murmured in dismay.
“Yes, it came as quite a surprise to us all. Mrs. Taylor is caring for her now.”
“I am sorry that I was not able to help you.”
“You were a bit preoccupied with your attempts to die to be of much service,” Felix teased gently, the sadness in his eyes belying his jesting tone.
“You saved me,” she whispered in gratitude.
Felix shook his head. “We saved each other.”
Marybeth blushed, then frowned in thought. “All of this for an ancient legend. Did you mean what you said to the Earl about the treasure not existing?”
“I do not know. I do not believe that it does, nor do I care to find out.”
“Can you imagine spending one’s entire life in search of such a thing only to meet such foul ends?”
“Not for merely gold or silver, but for love…” Felix leaned down and gave her the gentlest of kisses, brushing his lips against hers. “There is much I do not know in this world, but if these past days have taught me anything it is that love is the greatest treasure of all, and that there are no limits to what a man or woman will do for it, including myself. Marybeth, when I thought I had lost you, my heart ceased to beat. Without you it became naught but a black void.”
“Oh, Felix…”
“I am resolved not to let such a thing ever come to pass again.” The earnestness in Felix’s eyes caused Marybeth’s heart to skip a beat. Kneeling, he took her hand in his. “Marybeth Wright, would you do me the great honor of consenting to be my wife?”
Marybeth studied his face in joyous disbelief. “Yes! Oh, yes!” she exclaimed, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Felix arose from his place kneeling on the floor and took her into his arms. “I love you,” he murmured into her hair.
“I love you,” she choked out on a sob of pure unadulterated joy.
“Never leave me like that again. Do you swear it?”
Marybeth took his face between her hands and kissed him deeply. When they came up for air, she gazed lovingly into the eyes of the man she loved more than life itself and swore, “Never…”
Epilogue
Three Months Later
Marybeth gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She was pale, but otherwise healthy. She had recovered from her near-death experience under the watchful eye of her seven brothers. They had returned the next day as they had promised, given their blessing on her and Felix’s engagement, then insisted that she return to Enfield with them for the sake of propriety until the wedding. True to their word, they had completely renovated the manor house, removing all signs of the former Lord’s presence.
“You are a vision,” Alexander came up behind her, smiling.
“Thank you,” she murmured, smiling back. She had grown to love all of her brothers since coming to live with them. She would be sad to leave them, but her sadness was overwhelmed by the sheer joy she felt at becoming Felix’s wife.
“I have something for you,” Alexander informed her, moving to stand directly behind her in the mirror. His hands came around her neck and when he pulled them away in their place lay the most exquisite of sapphire necklaces with tiny diamonds and ruby accent stones dotting the periphery. “It was my mother’s, and her mother’s before her. It is a set with the ring Stephen gave you before he died.”
“I cannot accept this. One day you will wed and will wish to give it to your own bride.”
Alexander shook his head. “Nay, it is yours, dear sister. A worthier neck was never born.”
Marybeth turned and wrapped her arms around her brother’s middle in a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“No, thank you. Since you came into our lives there has been a light where once there was only darkness. You will always have a home here with us at Enfield.”
“And you at Arkley,” she answered in turn brushing the tears from her eyes.
“Are you ready?” he asked taking her face between his hands and studying her eyes to reassure himself that she was well and happy.
Marybeth nodded and stood back. She checked her reflection one last time to ensure herself that she had not blotched up her face with her tears, then took Alexander’s proffered arm, allowing him to escort her down to the waiting carriage. She rode to the church, her brothers surrounding her carriage on horseback. They looked daunting in spite of their wedding clothes. They were all so tall and broad, their eyes scanning the landscape for dangers. Marybeth smiled at their fierce protective natures.
When they arrived at the church, Alexander helped her to dismount, then led her down the aisle to where Felix anxiously awaited her. When he first laid eyes on her, his eyes lit up and he broke out into a grin. She smiled back. He was resplendent in his wedding suit, his green eyes glowing with happiness as his raven black hair glowed in the candlelight. A more handsome man she had never seen.
Marybeth floated toward him as if she were walking on air. Alexander placed her hand in Felix’s, gave his blessing, then stood back. The church grew quiet as the minister began the ceremony. They had decided to forgo the large lavish ceremony that a nobleman of Felix’s standing was expected to have in favor of a private ceremony with only their nearest and dearest surrounding them.
Felix’s mother had recovered quickly once she was no longer being poisoned and beamed at them from the first row. Oliver and Mr. Wheatly sat next to her. Marybeth’s brothers stood at the entrance as if standing guard. They were taking no chances that anyone or anything
would upset their sister’s wedding day.
The minster recited the vows and they each repeated them in turn. Felix slid a ring onto her finger, his words causing shivers to travel along her entire body as his eyes held hers. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
“Amen,” she whispered as he crushed her to him into a passionate kiss of celebratory surrender.
Later that night as they lay sated in each other’s arms, Felix traced the scar on her abdomen. “When I think of how close I came to losing you…” he whispered.
“Shh,” Marybeth placed her finger over his lips. “But you did not lose me.”
“And glad of it I am,” he answered nipping at her finger with his teeth. Marybeth giggled and wriggled against him as his arms came around to capture her pulling her against him.
Sighing in contentment, she nestled against him intertwining their fingers together. The glint of her wedding ring caught in the light of the fire and she smiled. “Say it again,” she whispered.
She felt Felix smile against the back of her head. “With this ring I thee wed,” he murmured tracing the gold band around her finger, “with my body I thee worship,” he rolled her over to placing a kiss on her exposed throat, “and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” As he claimed her lips once more the world faded away.
“Amen…”
The End?
Extended Epilogue
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Her Duke in Shining Armor
About the Book
So dark, so deep, the secrets that you keep…
Eleanor Stanley, daughter of the Duke of Brisdane, is certainly not the apple of her father’s eye.
Rebellious and blatantly outspoken about her dislike for the hypocrisy of the ton, she’s earned herself not only a bluestocking reputation but also the nickname ‘Lady Disdain.”
Aaron Bravolt, Duke of Oberton, never expected to catch one Lady Eleanor sneaking a servant child out at night in order to spare her from her father’s wrath. But his determination to decrypt the puzzling lady has consequences he couldn’t have foreseen.
With his own assets under attack by a mysterious adversary, Aaron has only eighteen hours to discover what really happened to the Duke of Brisdane’s late wife and to keep Eleanor from being taken away from him forever.
Chapter 1
London 1818
Who was going to break the stony silence first? Her or her father? Thank God the carriage was dark enough so she could barely see him. It was not a comfort though. If she could see him, she had no doubt there would be a dark glower on his face. The tension in the air of the carriage was heavy.
The ball that Countess Heatherdale had put on was the second-to-the-last affair of the London Season, a season where Eleanor had successfully managed to dissuade many would-be suitors. As the last of the season was to come, she counted it as a triumph, but if the stiff stoniness from her father was any indication, clearly, he did not.
On their way from the Countess’ St. John’s Wood manor to their palatial home in Mayfair, Eleanor did not dare try to peek around the thick navy drapes to see where they were, but she was desperate to escape this silence. It ate at her skin and her mind had tripped into overdrive.
What is he thinking? What is he going to accuse me of? What is he going to order me to do?
“You have disappointed me, Eleanor,” her father’s deep gravelly baritone made her jump. “Just like you have been doing for the past four months since the season started.”
Seeing as the London season had begun in late January and it was now May, her father had been noticing her behavior and had been holding in his anger for almost four months.
“Father, I— ”
“Do you not understand the reason for attending all the balls and soirées, Eleanor?” Her father’s comment was rhetorical. “It is not all dancing and merrymaking, it is for to you to find a fitting husband, and tonight, you have turned away no less than five respectable suitors.”
For good reason! None of them had a lick of common sense, Eleanor wanted to shout but did not dare speak back to her father when he had not finished speaking.
“Eleanor, you are ten-and-nine,” the Duke said tightly. “If you do not give these suitors a chance, how are you going to get to know them and then progress to courtship? Or do you aim to be a blue-stocking spinster like Lady Mariotte Delancey?”
Eleanor flinched.
Lady Delancey was the daughter of a duke but she had never given anyone her hand in marriage. Now, at the age seven-and-thirty, she was mockingly monikered the ‘Nun’ by the whole ton. While some progressive-minded people lauded her for keeping her individuality, many others scorned her as a pariah of society.
More importantly, though, she was mentioned as a scare tactic used by many mothers to intimidate their daughters into marriage by reminding them of what contempt they would suffer after passing the marriageable age.
“That is not fair, Father,” Eleanor said stiffly. “I did exactly what I was told to do. I danced and then conversed during the break of the sets. It is not my fault that none of my partners had a grain of novelty in their dialog.”
“Eleanor,” her father’s voice had dipped to a warning tone. “Not every man is interested or even knowledgeable enough to debate the semantics in Shakespeare's Comedies or reflect on what is happening in the colonies.”
“And I must be interested in what steel is best for swords or which cigar is best to not give lung troubles?” Eleanor replied while keeping her voice as calm as possible.
“It would not hurt to pretend,” her father censured. “Eleanor, there is one more ball, the Greyson’s, and I implore you, even if the conversation is tedious, use your prodigious imagination and just play along.”
And lose my integrity in the process. Eleanor fumed, I will not downplay my intelligence to pander to any man.
“If you think that is the best course, Father,” she eventually replied.
Turning her eyes to the softly-swaying curtains, Eleanor was acutely aware that her father knew she had not given him a definitive answer. Her words gave the impression of her compliance, but they did not assure it. And, in truth, she had no intention of pretending to be what she was not to get a husband.
If she had to suffer spinsterhood for the rest of her life, so be it. No glittering jewels, grand manors, vacation homes in France, or the scribbling of Lady so-and-so on paper was worth the sacrifice of her integrity.
The stifling silence continued between them until they arrived at their Mayfair home. The house, situated on meager ten acres of property was a little small for a Duke and his servants but it served its purpose. They had moved to this property mere months after her mother, Elizabeth, had died seven years ago. During the mourning period, her father had stated that their home in his county seat of Brisdane reminded him too much of Elizabeth, so they had packed up and left.
However, for the duties of his station, her father traveled frequently to the dukedom and stayed there sometimes for days, even weeks, on end. When he did go, he left her under the guardianship of Miss Malcolm, an old family friend and her chaperone.
“Welcome home, Your Grace and Lady Eleanor,” their butler, Mr. Ambrose bowed.
“Thank you, Ambrose,” Eleanor said as genially as she could while removing her shawl. Her father, on the other hand, just gave the man a curt nod and stalked off.
She traced the butler’s wondering
gaze and apologized on behalf of her sire, “You must excuse him, Ambrose, we had a little disagreement coming home.”
Mr. Ambrose’s smile was tight, “I understand, my lady, do you need me to send your usual tea to your chambers?”
“I would really appreciate it,” Eleanor said. “Thank you, Ambrose and good night to you.”
She turned away to face the undeniable proof of her family’s wealth. Crystals dripped like northern icicles from the grand-tiered chandelier overhead, and the golden light of its candles was flickering over the checkered marble floor underneath.
Ahead of her was the grand staircase. The twin arms of the gleaming mahogany stairwell elegantly rose to commence on a median landing, where two opposite walkways led to the separate wings of the house.
Sighing with exasperation at how the night had ended, Eleanor climbed to the landing and took the east corridor to her suite of rooms. She entered the first one, a modest sitting room with a chaise lounge and wingback chairs surrounding a coffee table and an escritoire. The hearth was dying down and its light flickered over the book-laden shelves she had persuaded her father to build there.
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