Last Duke

by Andrea Kane

  The maid spun to face her, her eyes wide with shock. “Who are you?”

  Daphne didn’t answer. She couldn’t. All she could do was stare, a chill encasing her heart as she confronted the agonizing specter of her past. Those eyes—dark, fathomless, intense. They had haunted her for twelve years, their hollow futility tearing at her heart.

  “Who are you?” the girl repeated, backing away.

  Her throat tight with remembered pain, Daphne tried to find the words to say and the voice with which to say them. Perhaps she would have succeeded, had her gaze not chosen that moment to fall upon the unadorned nightstand beside the girl’s bed.

  After which all attempts at speech were forgotten.

  There, its unblinking stare as vivid as it had been twelve years past, was the tattered, indelible memory of Daphne’s childhood.

  The doll from the House of Perpetual Hope.

  18

  “MA’AM, PLEASE. WHO ARE you? Why are you here?”

  Daphne heard the question through a paralyzed haze. Forcing herself to respond, she dragged her mind back from the fateful day that had forever changed her life.

  “My name is Daphne Thornton.” Her voice sounded odd, strained to her own ears. “I—” She wet her lips. “I saw the disgraceful way Lady Benchley treated you. Forgive me, but I had to make certain you were all right.”

  The girl lowered her lashes, turning away to begin gathering her belongings. “I’m accustomed to such treatment. It’s only that I need this job badly, now that—” Her mouth snapped shut. “ ’Twas very kind of you to check on me, ma’am. But I assure you, I’m fine.” She folded two worn frocks, then collected her brush and comb. “I’d best take my leave.”

  “Where will you go?”

  That hollow futility flashed in the girl’s eyes. “I haven’t given it any thought. In truth,” she added in a voice so tiny it was barely audible. “I’m not sure it matters.”

  Daphne blocked her path. “It matters to me.” She rushed on, desperate to intercede in a way she’d never before been allowed. “What is your name?”

  “Sarah.”

  “And your surname?”

  “Cooke.” The maid took up her bag, surveying Daphne with wary candor. “Ma’am, I don’t mean to sound rude, but why would you care about my name? Or about me, for that matter?”

  Sarah. At last. A name to put to the face. The identity of the girl, until now unknown, had, at last, been revealed.

  Perhaps the fates are offering me another chance, Daphne mused, the wondrous prospect infusing her heart with joy and hope. Twelve years before she’d been her father’s prisoner, a child herself, unable to reach out to the little girl who’d stared with terrified mistrust, clutched her doll as if it were her very lifeline.

  Now, Daphne was free.

  With the help of fate—and Pierce—Sarah would be, too.

  “ ’Tis not the first time we’ve met,” Daphne began carefully, praying for the right words, knowing she’d have but this one opportunity to extend her hand.

  Sarah inclined her head. “You must be mistaken. You’re a lady. I’m a maid. Besides, I’ve only been at Benchley for two months.”

  “And before that?”

  “Before that I worked in a tavern. I doubt you’d know it by name. The east end of London is hardly an area you’d frequent.”

  “Sarah,” Daphne closed the door, leaning back against it. “We haven’t much time, so I’ll be blunt. My husband is the Duke of Markham.”

  An intrigued spark of recognition flashed in Sarah’s eyes.

  “I see you’ve heard some of the gossip,” Daphne responded. “Residing with Lord and Lady Benchley, I rather assumed you had. So you know Pierce’s title is newly acquired.”

  “I’ve heard only that he was a wealthy commoner and now he’s a wealthier duke,” Sarah replied carefully.

  “A commoner of questionable parentage,” Daphne clarified.

  “Yes.”

  “His childhood was a nightmare, Sarah. A living hell that no one in that ballroom could possibly understand.”

  “Why are you telling this to me?”

  “Because you would understand.”

  “I? Why? Because we both grew up without benefit of title or wealth?”

  “No. Because you both grew up in the House of Perpetual Hope.”

  Silence.

  Slowly, Sarah sank down on the bed, pressing her shaking hands to her face. “How did you know that?” she whispered.

  “Because that was where you and I met. A dozen years ago.” Daphne inhaled sharply. “My father is an unfeeling man who believes all those born without should be cast into the streets, and all who oppose that course of action should be beaten into submission. Sadly for me, I was a dissenter, then and now. When I was eight, he decided to alter my convictions by forcing me to witness the horrors of a workhouse firsthand. The workhouse he selected was the House of Perpetual Hope.” A painful pause. “I first saw you pumping water in the garden, then again when I was leaving. I picked up your doll.” Daphne gestured toward the nightstand and the only possession Sarah had yet to pack. “Father flung her aside. You rescued her—” Daphne broke off, tears clogging her throat. “I don’t expect you to remember. But I never forgot.”

  Sarah’s face was pale, her lips quivering with emotion. “I don’t recognize your face. But the incident? That I remember. How could I not? I’d never seen anyone quite like you before, except in my dreams. I remember thinking how elegantly you were dressed, how beautiful you were—and how fortunate.”

  “Fortunate,” Daphne repeated with hushed irony. “Then, no. But now? Yes, very. My luck has changed dramatically thanks to Pierce. He’s given me joy, hope, a future.” She lay a tentative palm on Sarah’s shoulder. “And, if you’ll allow us, we can do the same for you.”

  “All because of one episode from your childhood?”

  “An episode that’s haunted me since I was eight. Not to mention the pleasure it would bring my husband to help provide you with a better life.”

  “How?” Sarah asked skeptically.

  “We were just about to make our excuses and leave Benchley. Come to Markham with us.”

  “Are you offering me a job?”

  “If you’d like one.”

  “As you just witnessed, I’m not terribly strong. I was discharged from the tavern for the same reason. Especially now that—” Again, she broke off.

  “Markham is enormous. I’m certain we can find something less taxing for you than carrying heavy trays.” More than anything, Daphne wanted to insist that Sarah come to their home, not as an employee, but as a guest. Yet, instinct warned her that Sarah’s pride would never permit her to accept what she would doubtless view as charity.

  Frantically, Daphne searched her mind for an answer, a logical, physically undemanding position that Sarah might fill.

  “You speak exceptionally well,” she blurted.

  A slight smile played about Sarah’s lips. “For a street urchin, you mean.”

  “For someone who never had the benefit of proper schooling.”

  “I taught myself. I read every book I could lay my hands on, philosophy, poetry, novels, everything.”

  “As did Pierce. Unfortunately, few people possess your aptitude, or your initiative.” As Daphne spoke, the idea took hold, erupting full force in her mind. “Sarah, how would you feel about giving lessons?”

  “Lessons?”

  “Yes. English lessons at Markham. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it immediately.”

  “I’m not following you, ma’am.”

  “Sarah,” Daphne seized her hands. “Markham has been asleep for many years. I’m only beginning to awaken it. And I need your help. We have scores of servants and, thanks to Pierce’s painstaking arrangements, hundreds of tenants. Consequently, there are hosts of wonderful children now living at Markham, children who could benefit from your knowledge and experience without ever having to leave the estate.”

  �
�Isn’t there a village schoolhouse?”

  “Yes. But few children are able to attend. Their parents simply cannot spare them from their chores. This way, they wouldn’t have to. We could conduct evening classes, or pre-dawn classes, whatever was necessary. And we could vary the studies, so the five-year-olds wouldn’t be expected to learn at the same pace as the thirteen-year-olds.”

  “But I’m not qualified to teach,” Sarah broke in to protest.

  “I beg to differ with you,” Daphne countered. “You’re inordinately qualified. You can offer these children not only book learning, but youth and enthusiasm. And most of all, hope—the living proof that they can aspire to more and succeed.” Pleasure glowed in Daphne’s eyes. “Think about it, Sarah. Think about the difference you can make.”

  Sarah studied Daphne’s face. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

  “Extremely serious. Will you consider my offer?”

  Another slight smile. “Hadn’t you better discuss it with the duke first? Perhaps he won’t share your enthusiasm.”

  “I have no worry on that score.” Daphne inclined her head quizzically. “Your answer?”

  “My answer?” Sarah echoed the question in utter amazement. “Forgive my impertinence, ma’am, but you ask as if I had somewhere else to go.”

  “You have. If you don’t feel suited to this position, or if, after seeing Markham, you believe it to be too overwhelming to call your home, then Pierce and I will make certain you find an agreeable living arrangement elsewhere.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  Sarah swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “I don’t want your thanks. I want your company. Will you travel to Markham with us?”

  For the briefest of instants, Sarah appeared torn, struggling with some internal conflict. At length, she nodded. “With pleasure, ma’am.”

  “Wonderful!” Daphne beamed. “I need a few minutes to pack. Then, we can be on our way.” Half turning, her gaze fell on the nightstand, and she smiled, tenderly picking up the ragged doll. “I’ve spent a dozen years wondering—what is her name?”

  A wistful look. “Tilda. Actually, Matilda. It was my mother’s name.”

  “Tilda,” Daphne repeated softly. “ ’Tis a lovely name.”

  “Mama gave her to me the morning she left me on the workhouse steps.” Sarah’s voice broke. “ ’Twas the last time I saw her. Her body was found the next day, floating in the Thames.”

  Daphne hugged Sarah fiercely, vowing then and there to ensure this frail yet courageous girl nothing but happiness from then on. “Come,” she managed. “Let’s collect my things. We can talk while we pack. I can already envision precisely which of Markham’s bedchambers will be yours. It has a lovely view of the gardens and a wide ledge at the window just perfect for Tilda to sit and look out—”

  “Wait.” Abruptly, Sarah stayed Daphne with her hand. “I can’t do this to you, not when you’ve shown me more kindness than I’ve ever known in my life.” She lowered her lashes to hide the pain her refusal evoked. “I can’t go with you, Your Grace. I want to—more than you can ever imagine—but I can’t.”

  “Why?” Daphne was taken aback by the rapid turnabout. “Why can’t you go?”

  Silence.

  “You can trust me, Sarah,” Daphne murmured. “Tell me what this is all about.”

  “I’m with child.” It was an admission of fact, not shame or remorse. “That’s the reason I’ve been constantly weak and lightheaded. It’s also why I can’t accept your offer, no matter how much I might want to. To burden you with my condition, and eventually my child, would be dishonest and unfair to you, to the duke, and to the children I’d be instructing.”

  “The babe’s father?”

  “Isn’t interested in acquiring a wife or a child,” Sarah finished. With proud defiance, she raised her chin. “I’d be lying if I said James hadn’t made that fact clear from the start. He did. But it changed nothing. Not my love for him, nor my aching need to have his child. I want this babe, Your Grace, want it more than anything on earth. And not only because of James, but because I long for the chance to give my child what I never had: a mother who loves him enough to never leave him.” Sarah lay a protective palm over her still flat abdomen. “Can you understand that?”

  “Yes. Far better than you think.” Daphne’s cheeks were damp with tears. “And I greatly appreciate your candor. Now, are you ready to go?”

  Sarah gaped. “You still want me?”

  “More than ever,” Daphne replied fervently. “Anyone who can speak of children with such tenderness and commitment is the ideal candidate to teach them. Moreover, you’ll need proper care for yourself and your babe. We’ll see that you get it. So,” Daphne swung open the door and scooped up Sarah’s bag, “if that’s all settled, we’re off to Markham.”

  Pierce was deep in thought as he paced before the waiting carriage. He’d reached his breaking point tonight, thanks to Benchley’s disdainful remarks and arrogant boast. No longer could he dismiss the inner voice that urged him to act.

  Conflicting emotions or not, the Tin Cup Bandit would strike.

  Instinctively, Pierce began plotting out details.

  He’d nearly completed his strategy when Daphne emerged from the manor thirty minutes later, accompanied by the serving girl Lady Benchley had been chastising earlier.

  “Would you please load this as well?” Daphne paused to ask the footman, handing him the maid’s suitcase.

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  Daphne turned to her husband, her gaze saying far more than her words. “Pierce, this is Sarah Cooke. She’s just accepted a position at Markham that will solve all our problems concerning the children. In fact, as luck would have it, she’s able to travel home with us right now. Sarah, my husband, Pierce Thornton.” A twinkle. “The notorious Duke of Markham.”

  “Your Grace.” Sarah curtsied.

  “We’re delighted to welcome you, Sarah.” Blindly, Pierce followed his wife’s lead. “Notorious?” he added with a grin.

  “Indeed.” Daphne leaned conspiratorially forward. “Evidently, your colorful rise to the ranks of the nobility has become quite a topic of conversation among members of the ton.”

  “I’m flattered.” Pierce wasn’t fooled by his wife’s purposeful banter. Scrutinizing her face, he read her unspoken plea and answered it. “I’ve made our excuses.” He opened the carriage door, beckoning to both ladies. “Shall we go?”

  The carriage made its way through Benchley’s iron gates. With keen insight, Pierce watched Sarah knotting her hands in the folds of her dress, nervously awaiting Daphne’s explanation.

  Daphne stalled only until they’d reached the main road. Then, as the estate disappeared from view, she turned to Sarah, frowning as she saw the girl’s obvious trepidation.

  “There’s no reason to be apprehensive. Your old life is over. Let’s embrace your new one.” Daphne’s meaningful glance flickered briefly over Pierce before returning to Sarah. “Tomorrow morning we’ll begin planning a schedule of lessons for all of Markham’s children. We’ll consult their parents, of course, and devise times that won’t conflict with their chores. Why, with a modicum of effort, you can begin teaching by next week.”

  Pierce gave Daphne an almost imperceptible nod of understanding.

  Chewing her lip, Sarah addressed Pierce. “Sir, I think you should know I have no prior experience. I’m not qualified for this position.”

  A twinge of amusement lit his eyes. “Clearly, my wife thinks otherwise. And, since I’ve discovered her instincts to be flawless, I’ll make note of your candid admission, then dismiss it.”

  “I—Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re quite welcome.”

  Confident that Daphne would explain the situation more fully once they’d arrived home, Pierce resumed his mental arrangements. Shifting restlessly, he glanced at his timepiece. “I ho
pe you ladies don’t object. I’ve asked our driver to make a brief stop.”

  “Of course not,” Daphne assured him, although her brows rose in surprise. “Where are we stopping?”

  “Wellingborough.” Pierce knew his. wife well enough to know she wasn’t fooled by his casual demeanor or light tone. Just as she’d perceived his inner conflict, she sensed his current unrest. And he could do nothing to assuage her worry, especially not in light of the decision he’d just made. “I need to collect some business materials for my meeting in London next week. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. Wellingborough is on our way.”

  “By all means.” Daphne laced her fingers together. “Sarah and I will use that time to get better acquainted.”

  Silence fell, lingered until the carriage rolled to a stop before Pierce’s Wellingborough home.

  “I’ll be back straightaway,” he assured them, alighting swiftly and striding up the walk.

  The house was dark, and Pierce lit a single candle to illuminate the hallway. Strange how coldly unoccupied the place seemed, he mused, glancing up and down the shadowed walls. Not long ago it had been his home. Now it was only a house.

  Home was with Daphne.

  He acted quickly, squatting to remove the appropriate floor plank, reaching beneath to extract the small object he’d carefully secreted on the morning following his wedding while his bride was still blissfully asleep.

  The emerald from the Earl of Selbert’s Mansfield estate.

  Slipping the stone into his pocket, Pierce reached beneath the floorboard again, extracting the mask he wore on his excursions as the Tin Cup Bandit. Pocketing that as well, he replaced the slat, scanning the floor to make certain he’d left no evidence of his hiding place. Then he stood, pausing only to gather up some unneeded papers to support his fabricated excuse for stopping by. Extinguishing the candle, he left.

  Sleep was not forthcoming.

  Tossing off his brandy, Pierce stared out the sitting room window, wishing Daphne hadn’t rushed off to help Sarah settle in. He needed her tonight, needed the gentle touch of her body, the healing warmth of her love.