Dismissing the Duke

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  “Oh, Esther,” her sister-in-law muttered quietly, “she didn’t mean it. Leah loves you.”

  “No,” Esther replied, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. “I’m quite certain she meant it, whether she loves me or not. I do think that might be up for debate, actually.”

  Sara Beth pushed out of her seat and rushed to the one next to Esther. “Don’t say that,” she said, grabbing her hand. “Sisters fight! At least, I think they do. Not that I have any experience in that area.”

  “Yes, I know. Leah and I argue all the time. It’s just…well, I’ve never actually seen her like that.”

  “I’m sure she’ll come arou—”

  “Do you think she’s right?” Esther trained her eyes on her sister-in-law, trying to determine the truth by reading her face, for it was likely Sara Beth wouldn’t be entirely forthcoming on the matter. No one ever wanted to tell someone their faults to their face. Well, no one except Leah, apparently.

  Sara Beth sat quietly for a moment. If she was taken aback by the question, she hid it well. “I think,” she began evenly, “that the people we are closest with have the uncanny ability to get under our skin. It doesn’t mean either person is at fault.”

  “Goodness, Sara Beth, you ought to go into politics. That was a positively ambiguous response.”

  “And ambiguous it will remain!” She released Esther’s hand and leaned back in her seat. “You are both my sisters now, and I’ll not make an enemy of either of you. You and Leah will have to settle your differences without forcing me to choose sides.”

  “That wouldn’t be well done of us, would it?”

  “Decidedly not.”

  “Did you ladies save any tea for us?” came her brother’s voice from the doorway. Gabriel sauntered into the room behind Great-uncle Danby.

  “Ah!” Sara Beth leapt from her seat and moved to greet Gabriel as if they’d been apart for months. “I wondered when you’d join us.”

  “Missed me that much, did you?”

  Esther balked. “It’s barely been a quarter of an hour. God help us if you ever have to be separated for thirty whole minutes!”

  “Now, now, Esther,” Danby said, taking the large armchair and settling his long body into it. “Let us allow them the joys of being newly wed.”

  “It’s all right,” Gabriel smirked. “Esther’s only jealous.”

  He was only joking, Esther knew that. So why did tears smart at the backs of her eyelids? She tried to laugh it off, but she sounded more like a chicken being strangled.

  “You must leave your poor sister alone,” Sara Beth said, swatting at Gabriel’s chest with her delicate hand. “She’s already endured enough from Leah this evening.”

  “Where is your younger sister?” Danby asked.

  Esther shrugged, and, having gained back her wits, said, “She left almost as soon as we arrived. Once she’d delivered me a scolding, that is. I’m afraid my sister and I don’t quite see eye-to-eye on…well, anything, I suppose.”

  Silence fell over the room for a moment, and then Danby said, “Is that supposed to be a surprise to all of us?”

  “No,” Esther replied. Though her sister’s words had come as quite a surprise to her.

  “We should be going soon,” Gabriel said, and Sara Beth immediately leapt to go and find Leah.

  While her brother and great-uncle sipped brandy by the fire, Esther sat by the window, staring out into the darkness that had fallen sometime ago. It was impossible to make out anything on this moonless night, but she stared just the same. Perhaps hoping that someone would emerge from the darkness to rescue her from the turmoil she felt inside.

  Chapter 5

  It was barely nine o’clock by the time Gabriel and his sisters returned to the cottage. An early night by societal standards. Things would surely be different in London. Parties often went well into the wee hours of the morning, or so Timothy had heard. He’d have to get used to the new hours, perhaps a good deal less sleep. If he chose to go with them, that was. He was still undecided. He’d considered talking to Jimmy about his conundrum, but he already knew what his brother would say, so what was the point in bringing it up? He would first remind him he didn’t have to work if he didn’t want to, and then, once Timothy had insisted upon remaining employed, Jimmy would have championed the idea of his brother going to London, even if it was only to serve.

  So there he had it. Jimmy approved. But there was a bigger issue. One that Timothy wasn’t certain he could get past. Especially when Esther walked in the door from dinner looking like a wounded angel. Her face—her beautiful, beatific face, which was usually so passive and serene—was, tonight, so full of sadness and fear that it broke Timothy’s heart to even look at her. He wished so desperately to wrap her in his arms and hold her until she was herself again. Until a smile graced her soft, pink lips. And then he’d kiss her, and she’d forget whatever it was that had made her sad in the first place.

  But he couldn’t do any of that. Not tonight, probably not ever.

  “Welcome home, sir, Mrs. Whitton,” Timothy said as Gabriel and Sara Beth came into the foyer.

  Sara Beth rolled her eyes at him, as she always did when he called her Mrs. Whitton, but at the same time allowed him to take her pelisse from her shoulders. “You are relieved of your duties this evening, Hargood,” she said, emphasizing how ridiculous it felt to be so formal with one another.

  “You’re certain?” he confirmed.

  Gabriel stepped forward and took his wife’s hand, not bothering to veil the lust in his eyes. “More than certain,” he replied, never once taking his eyes from his wife’s face.

  “I bid you both goodnight, then.”

  Timothy watched as the pair disappeared up the staircase, and then he felt someone brush past him. He looked up to find Miss Whitton and Miss Leah heading up the staircase as well.

  “Goodnight, Hargood,” Leah said, though her usual, jovial tone was missing this evening.

  “Goodnight, Miss Leah.” He paused, and then said, “Goodnight, Miss Whitton.”

  Esther turned on the stairs and met his gaze. He’d never been moved to tears before just by looking into someone else’s eyes, but here he was, blinking them away and swallowing over a lump in his throat. What had happened this evening? Was Danby not sending them to London, after all? Of all people, Sara Beth would have been the most disappointed at that, but…

  No, it was something else. Timothy was certain of it. But he knew his place well enough, and it was not within his duties to pry or even comfort the young ladies.

  “Goodnight, Hargood,” Esther finally managed, but her voice was barely a whisper.

  And then she and her sister were gone, and Timothy stood lamely at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at nothing. He shook off the morose feeling he’d been left with and made his way through the kitchens. It was blessedly quiet below stairs this evening. Cook had taken to bed early, and Mrs. Graves, the housekeeper, was reading quietly at the kitchen table. Timothy didn’t wish to disturb the woman, but he needed to light his cheroot, and the only fire still burning was there, in the kitchen.

  “Evening, Mrs. Graves,” he said quietly, slipping into the room and making his way to the fire.

  “Going home already?” the older woman asked, looking up from her novel.

  Timothy shrugged as he stuck the end of the cheroot into the flames. “Mr. Whitton sent me home, but it’s a nice night, and it’s early yet. I think I’ll quite enjoy the walk.”

  Mrs. Graves nodded. “Good evening to you, then, Hargood.”

  He nodded back, left the kitchen, and then emerged out the back door into the little courtyard where the local vendors made their deliveries every morning.

  He perched himself against a large barrel and put the cheroot to his mouth. He wasn’t a man of vices, and yet, the spicy taste of a cheroot, the musky smell of its smoke, did something to him. Reminded him of Papa, he supposed, though he’d not given it much thought. He didn’t care to think a
bout his parents, seeing as they’d been lost at sea years ago. Timothy wished desperately that his thoughts of them would bring up happy memories of frolicking through meadows with his mama, or playing cards with Papa on a cold, wintry night. But, no. He could only picture their poor, terrified faces in their last moments aboard a bucking ship in the middle of a treacherous sea.

  He was about to push off the barrel and head home when the door flung open and slammed against the house. In the doorway stood Miss Whitton…Esther. She wore a wide-eyed look of shock as she stood there, panting heavily, as if she’d been in a full run. But where was she running to?

  “Miss Whitton?” he said, staring at her as if she were an enigma. “Is everything all right?”

  She didn’t move, she didn’t speak. Only stood there, staring at him, her chest heaving up and down. Up and down…

  He forced his eyes back to her face. “Miss Whitton?” he prodded again.

  Her dark eyes flicked briefly to the cheroot in his hand. “May I?”

  Timothy had never been so shocked by two little words in his entire life. “You want to…?” He held up the little burning stick.

  Esther swallowed and then nodded her head.

  The smile that spread Timothy’s lips was out of his control. He jerked his head, indicating for her to join him, and she finally moved from her spot in the doorway, letting the door shut behind her. Leaving them quite alone in the little enclosed courtyard.

  When she approached, he handed her the cheroot, and she tentatively put it to her lips. She took a long drag and then began to cough and sputter as she tried to blow it out. Timothy tried not to laugh, but it was such a delightful treat to see Esther Whitton—a woman usually confident and in control—so flustered and unsure.

  Timothy patted her on the back, allowing his hand to linger even when she was breathing properly again.

  “I’m sorry,” she choked, trying to hand the cheroot back to him. “Stupid idea.”

  “Now, now,” Timothy cajoled. “You mustn’t give up so easily. Try again. Only this time, don’t breathe it into your lungs. Hold it in your mouth for a moment, and then let it out.” She stared at him as if he’d gone mad, but at long last, brought it back to her lips and sucked in the smoke.

  Damn, but his pants were growing tighter watching her smoke. Oh, to be that cheroot…

  “There you are,” he said gently. “Now let it out.”

  Her pink lips formed a perfectly rounded “O” as the smoke escaped in a long stream and then dissipated into the chilly air.

  She looked up at him, her eyes round and doe-like. “Was that better?”

  “Do you think it was better?” he teased.

  Esther gave a little laugh. “Much.” And then she turned sober again, much to Timothy’s chagrin. He liked when she smiled.

  “Miss Whitton,” he ventured. “What are you doing out here?”

  She pulled her cape closed and hugged it to her body, casting her eyes to the ground. “I, erm…well, that is…”

  Hope fluttered in Timothy’s chest, and he dared to reach out and touch her chin, lifting it until her eyes met his. Their breaths mingled in white puffs as they stood there for a long moment simply staring at one another.

  “Please say you were looking for me,” he said, praying her answer would be a favorable one so he wouldn’t feel like a blasted idiot.

  But she didn’t even bother to answer him. Not in words, anyway, but something much sweeter. She lifted onto her toes and pressed her soft lips to his, causing his trousers to stretch to their absolute maximum capacity. She tasted of cheroot—spicy and smoky—and the smell of her rosewater invaded his nose. All-in-all, his senses were overloaded. Especially when he dared to touch her, slipping his hands beneath her cloak. Her waist was slender and womanly, and her entire body shook as he pulled her toward him, gently holding her against him. It took all his willpower not to press his manhood into her, for he needed relief from the pain of this pleasure. But she was innocent and pure and so, so proper, and something like that would surely frighten her away forever.

  Before things got out of hand—and they surely would, if they kept going like this—Timothy tore his lips away from hers. They stood practically nose-to-nose, their bodies pulsating with every belabored breath they took. He reached a hand up to touch her face and she nuzzled against it.

  “Please say you’ll come to London with us,” she blurted out, taking Timothy by surprise.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She blinked her long lashes several times. “I know Gabriel asked you to come, but he says you were taking time to think about it.” Her slender throat worked up and down as she swallowed. “And now I’m asking you.”

  How could he say no to that? How could he deny himself the pleasure of her company, if that’s what she was offering?

  Perhaps by reminding himself that they could never, ever be. And that a torrid affair with such a lady would only be short lived. She’d soon find a husband in London, and then where would that leave Timothy? Alone. And much more worse for the wear, with a broken heart.

  He stepped away, already missing her warmth. Missing her. “Miss Whitton,” he began. “I’m sure it’s no secret now that I…that I have particular feelings for you. And while I’m pleased to realize that those feelings are reciprocated, I am no fool.”

  Esther’s brows knit together in confusion, but he didn’t allow her the time to speak.

  “You are being sent to London to find a husband—a suitable husband. Not to cavort with the hired help.” God, but those words felt like a dagger to his own bloody heart. He wasn’t just hired help, he knew that. There was so much more to him than that. But that was all anyone ever saw, wasn’t it? That would certainly be all her family would see.

  The Esther he’d come to know after these few months began to resurface. She poked her chin out and straightened her spine. “Is that how you think of yourself?” she asked, and the admonishment was clear in her tone. She didn’t like him speaking that way of himself just as much as he didn’t.

  He hung his head. “No,” he admitted. “But this is about more than just…you and me.”

  She sucked in a loud breath. “Yes, I know.” Her shoulders slumped again, just slightly. “But it seems silly that a marriage between two people isn’t just about…two people.” And then, clearly realizing what she’d said, she brought a hand to her mouth with a little gasp. “Not that you want to marry me. That is, I don’t mean to rush things, I just…”

  Timothy took the opportunity to both put her out of her misery and kiss her again, for it was killing him not to. He pressed his lips to hers and let the kiss linger for what felt like an eternity and yet not nearly long enough. “Don’t apologize,” he growled as he pulled away again. “I’ve been watching you, admiring you from afar, Esther Whitton, ever since the day you arrived here at Danby Castle. I know enough of you to know that I would give anything to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  She blinked up at him. “You…you would?”

  He nodded as the pain of reality set in. “But I also know it isn’t that easy.”

  “We could elope,” she suggested, and it made Timothy laugh.

  “Your great-uncle would catch up to us before we even made it out of Yorkshire.”

  “But there must be a way.” It was her turn to reach a hand up to his face. Timothy closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her soft skin against his evening stubble. “If only you’d say yes to London,” she went on. “We might figure it out together. Please.”

  “And if we don’t figure it out?”

  That thought seemed to pain her just as much as it did him, if her tearful brown eyes were any indication. “Then we will cherish the time we spent together forever, won’t we?”

  Chapter 6

  Having a torrid love affair with a valet was not something Esther ever imagined when she was a little girl, acting out romantic scenarios of love and marriage with her little sister. Well, perhaps not romantic
, and perhaps not love, even. It was more about there being a high-ranking peer waiting for her at the altar of St. George’s. And of course proud parents sitting in the front row, beaming that their first born had made an advantageous match her first season out.

  Come to think of it, that’d been the scenario she’d been dreaming about even a few months ago. Goodness, how things had changed. Now, here she was, darting through the pouring rain toward the mews, her heart racing, not from running, but from the anticipation of what was about to happen. Three excruciating days had passed since she’d made her plea for Timothy to join them in London, but since then, she’d been subjected to a string of dress fittings, luncheons with local ladies who wanted one last visit before they left for the city, shopping trips to town with Leah and Sara Beth for all the necessary fripperies—she’d hardly had a moment to herself, let alone a moment to meet secretly with Timothy. Oh, and never mind everything poor Timothy had had to do. Gabriel had him working harder than ever to prepare his things for the Season.

  But today, Esther had had enough. She couldn’t wait anymore to see him, to kiss him again, to feel his hands on her back, so warm and strong and…

  She ducked quickly behind a wooden pillar just outside the stables. Blast it all, she’d thought Gabriel had left already, but there he was, mounted on his horse, strutting right past her into the rain. She didn’t dare breathe. Heavens, what would happen if he found her? What would he say? What would he think? Would he tell Mama and Papa? Or worse…Danby?

  Her heart raced at the thought. The old man would have her locked away…or something. As she thought about it, she wasn’t at all certain what Danby would do in this situation. To be honest, he was always surprising them. Why, didn’t one of their cousins end up marrying a Scottish smuggler with his blessing?