Only a Duke Would Dare

by Blue Rose Romance Collette Cameron Author

  With a little shrug, she added a fifth lump of sugar, and stirring her very sweet tea, gave them a fatigued smile.

  “Oscar truly loves his parishioners, but I expect you’re here to discuss that other unpleasantness, aren’t you?”

  “When everyone is present since it concerns them as well.” Victor forced himself to drink the tea, but after the coffee this morning and two tankards of ale, his stomach protested against any more liquids.

  “He’ll have to resign, won’t he?” Mrs. Brentwood looked first to her son and then to Victor. Her bravado slipped, and she gave a defeated little nod. “Yes. Of course he will. I presumed as much.”

  She touched a bent knuckle to the corner of her eye.

  “He has no choice, Mama.” James leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “If Father’s to be granted any grace, he must show true humility and remorse. He can never be trusted with a parish again. You must know he’ll be defrocked.”

  The column of her throat worked, and she blinked several times.

  “Yes. I thought so. I’m not sure what we’ll do, but Oscar will think of something.”

  If he wasn’t rotting in a prison cell.

  Victor stared into his cooling brew. He’d been mulling over that very detail. Everything depended on whether Brentwood was brought up on charges. And that depended on whether Leadford could be convinced to keep quiet.

  He permitted a satisfied upturn of his mouth. He believed he had just the means to ensure Leadford did.

  A ruckus in the entry and a door clunking shut announced someone had returned.

  “Have you decided yet, Oscar?” Leadford asked. “I really do think it best if I procure a special license and the ceremony takes place at once.”

  “That worm cannot marry my Thea, James,” Mrs. Brentwood whispered fiercely. A mother’s protectiveness rendered her voice and expression fierce. “He simply can not.”

  “Mrs. Brentwood, he shan’t,” Victor said. “I need you to trust me in this.”

  Features tight, her worried brown eyes so like Thea’s, she gave a quick nod.

  “I’m not discussing that right now, Hector.” Disdain riddled the reverend’s hushed voice. “Besides, it appears we have callers.”

  Mrs. Brentwood rose and sailed to the entrance.

  “Oscar, the Duke of Sutcliffe is here, as is James. I’ve sent Jessica for Theadosia. His Grace wishes to speak to all of us.”

  “I’ll just bet he does,” Leadford all but sniggered. A moment later, he swaggered into the parlor, greeting Victor and James with a surly, “Gentlemen.”

  He helped himself to a handful of biscuits before flopping into an armchair. No doubt he thought he controlled the situation. Was he in for a nasty surprise.

  Jubilation thrummed through Victor, blaring triumph’s fanfare in his blood.

  Mrs. Brentwood sent Leadford a censuring frown as she returned to her seat and lifted the pot.

  “Tea, Oscar?”

  “No, thank you.” Mr. Brentwood gave Victor the briefest tilt of his chin in greeting. Mortification fairly radiated off of his stiff form. “James, what goes on here?”

  James stopped drumming his fingertips on the arm of the settee. “The Duke and I—”

  More commotion in the entry announced the girls’ return.

  Thea glided in, her arms laden with packages wrapped in brown paper and tied with strings. She stalled at the entrance when she saw everyone.

  Mrs. Brentwood took in the bundle Thea laid atop the table near the door. Her welcoming smile dissolved. “No luck, dearest?”

  Again, Thea’s gaze swept the room’s occupants, her delicate nose flaring as she encountered Leadford’s bold regard.

  She sliced him a frigid look.

  “I’m afraid not, Mama.”

  “Oh, I hope the tea is hot.” Jessica, her cheeks whipped rosy by the wind, looped her hand through Thea’s elbow and guided her to the settee that Victor sat upon.

  “I’m quite chilled,” she said, perching on the arm of her mother’s seat instead of taking the only remaining chair beside Leadford.

  Even as she accepted her steaming cup of tea, the tumultuous clouds outside released their generous contents.

  “Was there ever such a cool summer?” Mrs. Brentwood idly remarked to no one in particular.

  With a graceful swish of skirts, Thea sank onto the cushion beside Victor. After balancing her umbrella against the seat, she declined tea with a small shake of her head as she removed her bonnet. Not the cheerful one with the blue roses, but a frumpy straw affair with but a single green ribbon frayed at the edges.

  “What was so urgent Jessica had to drag me home before I finished my errands?”

  Everyone looked to Victor. He hooked his ankle over his knee and examined the fingernails on his left hand. “We are all aware that Leadford’s blackmailing Mr. Brentwood, are we not?”

  Everyone gave a cautious nod.

  The reverend’s face reddened, but Leadford didn’t even have the decency to look abashed.

  He lifted a shoulder, his manner cockily confident.

  “Don’t make me out to be the villain. I’m simply taking advantage of an opportunity to better my situation.” He flicked his biscuit-crumb covered fingers toward Mr. Brentwood. “He has only himself to blame for stealing Church monies.”

  Thea grasped the handle of her umbrella.

  Was she contemplating thwacking Leadford?

  Victor would quite like to see that.

  Lips pressed together, the reverend remained silent, his focus on his folded hands. Even Victor felt a dash of empathy for the chagrined man.

  “When was the last time you altered the books, Mr. Brentwood?” he asked.

  Surprised, the cleric blinked. His thick, silver-peppered brows furrowed in thought, he scratched his chin. “At least four months ago. I’ve been saving what I took and slowly doling it out so it wouldn’t be obvious to Marianne.”

  “Four months ago, you say? Then why do the ledgers clearly show at least two adjustments last week?” Victor slash Leadford a what-do-you-have-to-say-about-that glare.

  Straightening his spine in indignation, Mr. Brentwood turned his contemptuous regard upon Leadford. “You accuse me, threaten to ruin my life, blackmail me and coerce me to agreeing to let my precious daughter marry you, and then you commit the same sin?”

  For the first time, Leadford looked uncomfortable. He wet his lower lip and shifted his feet. “No, no, I haven’t.” He pointed at Brentwood. “You’re the only one who’s guilty of that crime.”

  Victor suspected the previous curate might’ve had sticky fingers too, for Brentwood clearly had no idea how to keep books properly. A wonder there hadn’t been consequences before now.

  It didn’t matter. Victor intended to repay every penny.

  “I have a proposition. One that I think will work to everyone’s benefit.” He gave Theadosia a reassuring smile.

  A tiny glimmer of something shimmered in her eyes for a moment, then faded.

  A tendril had come lose when she removed her hat, and the wavy strand teased her ear. Was her hair half as soft as it looked? He longed to find out, to see the mass unbound and draped about her shoulders and back.

  If all went well, he would.

  “Do you trust me, Thea?”

  Her pretty eyes went soft around the edges. “Of course I do.”

  “I think you’re forgetting who has the upper hand here.” Leadford made a rude noise, his bluster returning. “There’s nothing you can do or say—”

  Victor raised his hand. “Hear me out.”

  “Yes, do hush, Mr. Leadford,” Mrs. Brentwood said. “I’ve had quite enough of you. In fact,” she slid her husband a sideways glance, then squared her shoulders. “In fact, you need to be gone from All Saint’s within the hour. We’ll take our chances with the courts and the Church.”

  Leadford’s mocking laugh rang out. “You’d subject your daughters to prison? Do you know what they do to pretty young
women there? Shall I tell you?”

  He’d probably enjoy the telling, the depraved sot.

  “Enough. It won’t come to that.” Victor stood and, hands clasped behind his back, paced away. “I’ll repay all of the missing funds. I don’t care who took them, but I shall assure the books are balanced down to the last groat.”

  Jessica gripped her mother’s hand, and hope lit Mrs. Brentwood’s wan features.

  “As generous as that is, Your Grace,” Mr. Brentwood said, “it doesn’t excuse the fact that I committed a crime and I’ve a gambling addiction.”

  “Exactly.” Leadford pounced, claws barred. “If the Diocese were aware, you’d be defrocked, and you’d face a prison sentence or hanging.”

  James jerked his head in Leadford’s direction. “Men do not hang for theft, you dolt.”

  “He’d still go to prison. Probably die there. Then what of his wife and daughters?” Leadford’s left eye twitched. A dead giveaway he was nervous as hell.

  Victor laughed and splayed a hand on his nape. “You really didn’t think this through, did you? James would care for his family, naturally.”

  Leadford pushed to his feet. “I’m going to write an overdue letter. We’ll just see who’s laughing then.”

  “You might want to rethink that, Leadford,” James said, before yawning behind his hand. “Do you honestly think the courts or the Church will look kindlier on an extortioner? I’m a barrister. I should know. Particularly since it can be argued you also stole from the Church.”

  Victor patted his coat pocket. “I have a letter here from my friend, the Duke of Westfall. He did a little snooping around for me. I was actually surprised to hear from him so soon. Seems you were a rather unsavory chap in your last two positions. The Church didn’t want a scandal so they moved you on each time. Theadosia is not the first young woman to spurn your attentions, is she?”

  “Oh, well done you, Your Grace.” A fragile smile curved Theadosia’s mouth, and her face glowed with optimism.

  “Well, well, what an interesting turn of events.” James leaned back and folded his arms. “The self-righteous buggar has a history he’d rather not be made known.”

  “Nothing was ever proven.” Leadford plucked at his collar, his face a rather peculiar shade of greyish-green.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen, Leadford.” Victor rested his hands on the back of the settee, Thea’s satiny neck mere inches away. He gripped the wood tighter.

  “I’m going to give you a large purse, and you’re going to disappear. And that means you’ll never accept a clergyman’s position again. If I ever see you or even hear your name whispered again, friends of mine with questionable connections might be encouraged to abduct you and maroon you on a remote—a very, very remote—tropical island.”

  Leadford’s jaw sagged to his chin, and he deflated like an impaled hot air balloon. He looked from person to person, then wet his lips.

  “Fine. I’ll go. But only because you threatened me.”

  Victor hitched a shoulder. “Just as you threatened Theadosia and her family.”

  “When do I get my money?” Leadford asked.

  Greedy sod.

  “Be at the Blue Rose Inn at Essex Crossings at . . .” Victor withdrew his timepiece. “Four o’clock.”

  After a glare all around, Leadford stomped from the room.

  Mr. Brentwood sighed then pushed to his feet. “I’m grateful you’ve rid us of that vermin, Your Grace. And I’m indebted to you for your offer to repay the funds I borrowed.”

  Still couldn’t admit he’d stolen the money, could he?

  “You didn’t borrow them, Papa. You stole them and used Mama, Jessica, and I as an excuse to do so.” Theadosia’s quiet but resolved voice pinned him to the floor.

  “You’re right, Theadosia.” His shoulders drooped, and he seemed to shrink into himself at her censure. “Nonetheless, I humbly accept your offer, Your Grace. I’ve no wish to spend the remainder of my life in prison, even though it’s what I deserve for betraying my flock and my family. If you’ll excuse me, I need to write a letter of resignation.”

  “Mr. Brentwood, all of the offers I made previously still stand, if you are willing to accept them.” Victor re-pocketed his watch. “If I may be so bold, perhaps you might suggest in your letter that you persuaded me to restore the Church and parsonage as part of your recompense. And I, too, shall be writing a letter on your behalf.”

  “Thank you. Your generosity and kindness do you credit, and I do accept all of your proposals.” The reverend’s attention shifted to Theadosia. “Please forgive me, my dear. I’ve been unforgivably hard-hearted, selfish, and obstinate.” He closed his eyes, anguish contorting his face. “And prideful. So blasted prideful.”

  In a flash, she was in his arms, hugging her father.

  “Of course I forgive you, Papa. Does this mean we can see Althea again?” she asked swiping tears from her cheeks.

  “Yes, if she can forgive a stubborn, foolish old man.” Mr. Brentwood shuffled from the room, a broken man.

  “Please excuse me, Your Grace. My husband needs me.” After a brief curtsy, his wife swiftly followed him.

  Victor turned to James and withdrew a sizable envelope from his pocket. “This is for Leadford. Will you meet him on my behalf? I also want an agreement in writing. I’m taking no chances with that wretch. Can you deal with that as well?”

  “I’d be happy to, just to see the look on his face when I make him sign it.” James rose and stretched. “I must say, I thoroughly enjoyed you taking that rotter down a few pegs.” He reached for Jessica’s hand. “Come, pet. I’m ravenous. Let’s see what we can rummage up in the kitchen, shall we?”

  Jessica smiled at Thea. “We can keep our new gowns after all. We won’t have to attend the ball in our old frocks.”

  She accepted James’s help, and then with a bounce in her step, they departed.

  Thea canted her head, giving him a joyous smile.

  “You’re our hero, Victor. Yesterday, I believed there was no hope and today, you’ve set everything to rights.”

  Once again, his mother had been correct. Women adored heroes.

  Her exquisite face radiated with love for him. It humbled and exhilarated at the same time.

  How he’d resented coming back to Colchester, resented the stipulation in Father’s will. As it turned out, Father had known what was best, even when Victor didn’t.

  Cupping her shoulders, he bent and kissed her petal-soft lips.

  “Not everything, my love.”

  “What else is there?”

  An endearing perplexed frown creased her forehead.

  “There’s the matter of a proper proposal after your father just agreed that I might.” He fingered her tempting lock of reddish blond hair.

  “He did no such thing.”

  “Oh, but he did. I said all of my offers still stood, and he said he accepted all of them.”

  She angled her head.

  “Do you love me, Victor?”

  “I do.” He tweaked her nose. “I love you so much I cannot find adequate words. I told my mother this morning that I realized I did before I left three years ago. I also told her that I would marry no other save you and that if that meant I wasn’t wed by my birthday, dear Cousin Jeffrey would suddenly become a wealthy chap.”

  Tears sparkled in her eyes, and she grasped his lapels.

  “Did you truly?” She leaned away, her expression wary. “Was the duchess upset about possibly losing her home?”

  “On the contrary, my love. She ordered me to do whatever I must to save you.” He kissed her nose. “I think she’s already rather fond of you.”

  “Poor Jeffery. He’ll be so very disappointed.”

  Thea twined her arms about Victor’s neck.

  He cocked a brow. “And why is that?”

  “Because we’ll be married by your birthday, silly man.” She raised up on her toes, drawing his head downward. “Now kiss me, my dearest love.”


  “With pleasure, Duchess.”

  Victor grasped her waist and lifted her, sealing their troth with a kiss that branded both their souls.

  Ridgewood Court, Masquerade Fairy-tale Ball

  21 July, 1809

  Searching for her husband of almost ten hours, Theadosia ran her fingers along the gold satin ribbon-covered handle of her masquerade mask. Several gentlemen whose names she couldn’t recall in the flurry of introductions—except for the Dukes of Dandridge, Pennington, Westfall, and Bainbridge—had hustled him off toward the terrace after the first set.

  Grinning, something he’d done most of the day, his hands palm upward and extended in resignation, Victor had winked and allowed his mischievous friends to tow him away.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can escape these rakes, Duchess.”

  Probably sampling a bottle of spirits whilst toasting—or reproving—his stupidity for jumping headlong into the parson’s mousetrap less than a month after he’d returned to Colchester.

  She and Victor hadn’t had a moment alone the entire day. After the ceremony this morning, there’d been an extravagant breakfast, and the rest of the time had been filled with activities for the house party as well as guest after guest wishing them happy. And to think they had nearly a week more of this chaos before leaving for their wedding trip.

  A smile tugged her lips upward.

  Truth to tell, she didn’t mind, for her dearest friends and Jessica were gathered around her, each resplendent in fanciful gowns of silk and satin. Her own fairy-tale confection, a purple and gold creation so divine she’d almost been afraid to wear it, shimmered with thousands of tiny seed pearls.

  Victor had secretly commissioned it and surprised her with the gown this afternoon, along with a pair of golden slippers covered with hundreds of glass beads.

  “For my very own Cendrillon,” he’d said, gathering her into his arms for a spine-tingling kiss. “Have I told you how happy I am, my darling?”

  “No more than I, Victor.” She kissed the corner of his mouth. “It still feels like a dream, and I’m afraid I’m going to wake up.”

  “As long as you wake up beside me every day for the rest of my life.” He gazed longingly at the enormous four-poster bed dominating her bedchamber. “If I wasn’t determined to not rush our first joining, Duchess . . .”