What a Difference a Duke Makes

by Lenora Bell

  Outside, on the busy street, there would be people milling about. Constables at hand.

  She had to find a way to quit the earl without arousing undue attention. She was still worried about encountering Mrs. Trilby. And she certainly had no wish to be questioned by any authorities.

  Should she make a run for it in here, or on the street?

  Masterson gripped her elbow even tighter than Haddock had, and began to half drag her toward the entrance.

  She began forming a desperate plan. She’d allow Masterson to lead her outside and then she’d jab him with her umbrella and dart away.

  Haddock followed closely behind them down the stone steps and onto the street. “My carriage, Miss Perkins,” he said, indicating an enormous coach and four.

  “I’ve already told you. I’m not going anywhere with you.” She attempted to pull her elbow out of his servant’s grip. “And I’ll thank your manservant to release me.”

  His face darkened. “You’re Banksford’s mistress, is that it? Believe me, you’re meant for better things than being a governess. Why slog away caring for those brats when you could be set up in apartments of your own in Mayfair?”

  “You mistake me, sir.”

  “You’re an obscure little governess. You’ll do as I say.”

  “And you’re a rude, insinuating lecher.”

  Masterson dragged her toward the carriage.

  “I’ll scream,” Mari said.

  “I don’t think you will,” said Haddock, dropping all pretense of civility. “I have a suspicion that you don’t want attention called to you. That you wouldn’t want my word to be held up against yours. You know your place, don’t you, Miss Perkins. You’ll be a quiet, good girl.”

  Mari’s heart pounded with fear and her palms dampened. Didn’t the people on the street see what was happening before their eyes? If he got her into that carriage . . . her stomach lurched.

  She couldn’t think about that. About the manservant holding her down for his despicable master. How many other meek, defenseless girls had he tried this with?

  It made her sick. She would start screaming before she allowed herself to be forced into that carriage. But she wasn’t meek and defenseless.

  He might think she was, but she wasn’t.

  She most certainly did not know her place.

  Not anymore.

  She was through with hiding her strength.

  The most vulnerable part of the male body was his bollocks, that much she knew from talking to girls at the orphanage. Tightening her grip on her umbrella, she waited for the opportune moment to strike.

  Masterson released her arm to open the carriage door.

  “I won’t be a good, quiet girl,” she yelled, darting toward the earl with her umbrella poised to strike.

  “Leave her alone or I’ll break your bloody nose,” a thunderous voice shouted.

  Mari stopped mid-stride. “Edgar? What are you doing here?”

  Chapter 24

  He was rescuing her. Not that she needed rescuing, at least she didn’t think she did, but still, no one had ever rushed to her defense before.

  She’d always been alone. Mari versus the world.

  Tall and fierce, blocking out the sun, Edgar’s face was deadly and his fists looked like stone hammers, ready to rain down justice. “What’s happening here?” he growled, and this time his growling touched her heart in a profound way.

  The man who hated public spectacles was willing to battle an earl on the street, all for her.

  Haddock’s face paled. “Miss Perkins and I were having a conversation.”

  “Looks to me as though you were about to get a parrot’s beak to the bollocks,” said Edgar.

  Haddock eyed Mari’s umbrella.

  “That’s right,” she said, waving the umbrella handle. “A very sharp beak.”

  Edgar gave her a quick, approving look, then turned to glare at Haddock. “You’ll never speak to the lady again. And you’ll leave like a good, quiet little earl.”

  “What lady?” asked Haddock, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t see any lady. Just a governess disguised in fine clothing, who doesn’t know her rightful place.”

  It happened so quickly, Mari didn’t even have time to blink.

  Edgar’s fist crashed into Haddock’s nose, sending the earl staggering back against the carriage.

  “I told you I’d break your bloody nose. Now get in the carriage and leave, you craven piece of maggot dropping.”

  The earl’s manservant offered his master a glove to staunch the blood flowing from his nose. Haddock’s eyes were wide and glazed. The glove came away from his nose streaked with crimson.

  People on the street were staring.

  “You broke my nose,” Haddock said, stunned.

  “Said I would.” Edgar stepped forward menacingly. “Care to have your kneecaps broken as well?”

  “And your bollocks beaked?” added Mari, brandishing her parrot’s head umbrella.

  “Gentlemen settle these matters with pistols,” Haddock said, blood streaming down his face.

  “Is that a challenge?” Edgar asked with a disdainful curl of his lip.

  The earl’s face blanched. “I’ll see that your railway never gets built, Banksford.”

  “And I’ll see you in hell, Haddock.” Edgar’s face was impassive, his eyes steely.

  “Oh for Heaven’s sake,” said Mari. “It’s not worth fighting a duel over. Go home, Lord Haddock. And don’t ever try that again. I would have defended myself. I would have screamed. Don’t think females won’t fight back or make a scene. We’re not all meek and easily overpowered.”

  Haddock sneered at Mari. “You’re not worth any of this. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Insult her one more time and you die.” Edgar shook with rage and the tips of his ears had gone red.

  Mari could see that he meant it, and so could the earl. He scuttled into his carriage, leaving without another word.

  Luckily, no constables had become involved. The curious onlookers dispersed.

  “Edgar,” Mari said, laying her hand on his arm.

  His eyes were still hard as steel, and his body rigid.

  “Edgar,” she said again. “It’s over now.”

  She saw him return to his body from whatever dark place he’d been inhabiting.

  He took a quick breath and swiped a hand through his hair.

  It was over. She hadn’t been forced into a carriage. Edgar had rescued her.

  She hadn’t needed rescuing . . . probably. Though she was grateful for not having to find out.

  “You were magnificent,” she said to Edgar. “Thank you.” Her shoulders shook, her knees suddenly weak.

  Edgar laid his arm around her shoulders. “Can you walk?”

  “I just . . . need a moment.” She steadied herself against his solid, comforting bulk.

  “Can he block your railway?” she asked.

  “It was an empty threat,” Edgar said, but a muscle twitched in his jaw, telling her that perhaps it hadn’t been entirely empty. “The threat to you, on the other hand, was real. He was trying to force you into his carriage. I saw everything.”

  “I’ve been forced into carriages before and emerged to tell the tale,” she said flippantly, but she was still shaking inside from the panicked thoughts of what might have occurred.

  “This was different, and you know it. Why were you talking to him?”

  “I met him at the antiquities exhibition. He seemed a nice enough fellow, and I’ve been wanting to see the bronzes at the museum.”

  It sounded unconvincing, she knew.

  He searched her face. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter why you were talking to him. What matters is that you are safe, and that you didn’t end up in his carriage.”

  His kind words made her feel slightly teary-eyed.

  She’d never lied to him, not outright. Not with any kind of bad intent. She’d told half-truths. Diverted the conversation away from dangerous
subjects.

  How tired she was of evading his questions. She wanted to tell him everything.

  Yes, Edgar. I’m everything Haddock thought I was. I’m not superior. I’m not a gentleman’s daughter. I’ve sinned by omission.

  She couldn’t tell him out here on the street. Couldn’t bear to have him walk away in anger.

  She glanced at him, a thought occurring to her. “Were you . . . following me?”

  He avoided her eyes. “Might have been.”

  “Why would you follow me?”

  “Because I have an apology to make, and you wouldn’t let me give it to you earlier. And . . . I have a surprise for you and the children.”

  The seashore. The thought cheered her. Even though it meant she couldn’t pursue her quest to discover the truth of her birth, going to the seashore with Edgar and the children would accomplish other goals. It would bring him and the children closer together.

  And Mari wouldn’t have to be so wary and careful when she was away from London.

  Mrs. Trilby couldn’t find her there.

  “Come,” he offered his arm. “Let’s go home.”

  That was the second time he’d said those words to her.

  It was beginning to make her feel as though he believed she belonged in his house.

  And she was beginning to believe that she belonged in his arms.

  Despite all of his rules, was he beginning to feel the same way?

  One of his long arms was still draped across her shoulders, supporting her as they walked.

  Mari smiled.

  She’d take that as a fairly reliable indication that he felt the same way.

  “Are we truly going to the seashore?” asked Adele.

  “Truly,” replied Edgar.

  When he’d surprised the children with the news yesterday, they’d been so happy.

  This morning, they were dancing with anticipation, darting back and forth to the windows, watching for the traveling coach out of the library windows.

  “Calm down, please,” said Mari. “We are not whirling dervishes.”

  Edgar laughed. “There’ll be a long carriage ride ahead, best to allow them to run off some steam.”

  He wished he could go with them, but he and Grafton were testing their new engine today. They’d built the boiler as small and light as possible, but he wasn’t at all sure that it would hold up under pressure.

  “Where is Southend on the map, Father?” asked Michel.

  Edgar spun the globe. “Here.”

  “Not too far from London.” Michel perused the globe. “Have you been there before?”

  “I went there often as a child because we had a house there. It’s less than a day’s journey by coach. Of course, if there were a railway to Southend, people from London could be there within the hour, gazing at the sea, awash in the setting sun.”

  “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” asked Mari. “To be able to travel so easily.”

  “Someday,” Edgar said. “Someday it will happen. I’m sure of it.”

  Mrs. Fairfield entered the library. “Were you speaking of Southend? I remember it well. I was so sad when the house burned to the ground.”

  “What happened?” asked Mari.

  “There was a fire. We almost burned to death in our beds. The house was utterly destroyed.”

  “How dreadful,” Mari said. “And so now you are doing something about that memory. Finding better methods to fight fires.”

  He nodded. “Our new fire engine is nearly finished.”

  “May we see it?” asked Michel.

  “Someday,” said Edgar. “Today you’re going to the sea. Is that the sound of the carriage?”

  The children ran to the window. “It’s here!” they cried. “Hurry, Miss Perkins. No dawdling.”

  She laughed as they tugged her out the door. “No dawdling, Your Grace,” she called back at him.

  Wait. Did she think . . . ? Had he told her he wasn’t going with them? His heart sank. He honestly couldn’t remember.

  He followed Mari and the children outside. Mrs. Fairfield began supervising the loading of the carriage. Was that one of his trunks?

  After he helped the children, and then Mari, into the carriage, she looked at him expectantly.

  He hadn’t told her.

  “Off you go then. Have so much fun,” he said, hoping he was mistaken and they knew he wasn’t accompanying them. “Bring me back some shells.”

  “You’re . . . you’re not coming with us?” Mari asked, the light leeching from her eyes.

  The children stared at him. “You’re not coming, Father?”

  “I can’t.” He straightened his cravat. “I thought I’d told you. We’re testing the new engine design at The Vulcan today.”

  “Oh,” said Mari.

  Such a short little word with such vast meaning.

  He’d disappointed everyone. Again.

  He backed away from the carriage. Nodded at the coachman.

  Waved as the carriage left.

  It was the right thing to do. For everyone’s sake. He needed to work. The children wanted to see the seashore.

  Mari needed to get away from London, after her harrowing experience with Haddock and . . . he wanted to saddle a horse and chase after them.

  If it was the right thing to do . . . why did it feel so wrong?

  Mrs. Fairfield gave him an accusatory look.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You know what. Those children thought you were going with them. And so did Miss Perkins. I even thought you were going. I had your trunks packed. They’re with the other trunks.”

  He hadn’t told anyone he was staying here? “I thought I told everyone about testing the engine today.”

  “Apparently you did not.” She shook her head. “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.”

  “Now you’re the one spouting proverbs?”

  “Miss Perkins has vastly improved the household, and she’s gained the twins’ trust. It’s just a shame that she can’t trust you.”

  And what in the devil was that supposed to mean? Mrs. Fairfield had never spoken in that tone to him before.

  He trailed her back into the house, where even Robertson gave him a disappointed look, and that was saying a lot, because Robertson’s facial expressions usually ranged from impassive to glacial.

  “You as well, Robertson?” Edgar asked. “Has my entire household turned on me?”

  “I like Miss Perkins, Your Grace,” the butler said. “And . . .” He drew himself up. “And . . . she deserves better.”

  Robertson marched out of the entrance hall.

  Wait a moment, wasn’t his butler supposed to stay in the entrance hall?

  It was clearly mutiny. And all because he’d sent his children and their governess on a delightful seaside holiday.

  All you’ve done, a voice whispered in his mind, is turn your back on everything you care about.

  This. He gripped the rolled-up engine plans he’d retrieved from the hall table. This is what I care about. This is why I’m alive.

  Keep telling yourself that, you fool.

  He grabbed his greatcoat, because Robertson wasn’t there to garb him, and left the house at a trot.

  You can run but you can’t hide.

  He needed to be at his foundry.

  He’d find peace and clarity there.

  Edgar did not find peace and clarity at The Vulcan.

  He found billowing clouds of acrid smoke. He broke into a run.

  Grafton and the engine were standing in the middle of the courtyard. The smoke was coming from the engine. That was normal.

  But . . . the boiler was overheating. Edgar could see it from here. It shouldn’t be that glowing orange color. That color signaled . . . catastrophic boiler failure.

  “Grafton,” he shouted. “Get back.”

  His friend looked up, saw the color of the boiler, and began to run.

  The explosion shook the walls, and threw
Edgar to the ground, the deafening sound echoing in his eardrums.

  Metal shrapnel flew everywhere. Grafton had reached safety, thank God, ducking behind a brick wall.

  They always tested the engines in the middle of the courtyard for just this reason.

  So much for lightweight boilers, thought Edgar bitterly.

  He’d been so sure this one would hold up.

  They’d cast the boiler themselves, melting the iron in the blast furnace, and he’d had them add a strengthening compound while stretching the metal as thin as it would go.

  Too thin, apparently.

  It hadn’t been able to withstand the pressure. They’d never convince the fire brigades to use their engines if the boiler exploded in the fire fighters’ faces.

  Edgar picked himself up. “You alive, Grafton?”

  Grafton appeared, coughing and shaking his head. “Bit dazed, that’s all.”

  When the dust and smoke settled, men poured out of the foundry doors with buckets, dousing the still-smoking engine.

  The engine was supposed to be the thing doing the dousing. Not the source of the fire.

  Another failure.

  “Damn it. Why didn’t it work?” Edgar asked Grafton. “Why can’t the boiler withstand the pressure? We built it stronger this time.”

  “You’re the one who’s wound so tightly you’re going to explode. That’s why the designs aren’t working. You want it too much. You’re forcing it. We have to give up, old friend. We have to tell the fire commissioner that we’re not ready to demonstrate our engine yet.”

  “I’ll never give up,” Edgar said. “We’ll find a way to make the boiler work.”

  “We have to forge a heavier boiler, that’s the only solution.”

  “No. There’s got to be a way for it to stay lightweight.”

  “You realize that we could have both been killed just now, don’t you? I’m not really trusting your ideas right now. I think you need . . . how can I put this delicately . . .”

  “I know I’m wound tightly. Damn it, man. You think I don’t know it?”

  “Is it the governess?”

  Edgar didn’t answer. If he didn’t say anything, he wouldn’t say anything incriminating.

  “Out.” Grafton pointed at the exit. “You need to leave now or something bad is going to happen. Your designs aren’t working because your mind is elsewhere. Go to your governess. Forget about engines for a day or two.”