The Dangerous Duke

by Arabella Sheraton

  “Mama?” Devlin walked further into the room, his eyebrows contracting in a frown. It was too early for visitors and yet his mother seemed perfectly at ease with the man seated next to her on the sofa.

  The Dowager stretched out her hand. “Dearest Dev, I’m so glad to see you. Please let me introduce a very special visitor. Don Diego Nunez.”

  At these words, the man rose and bowed to Devlin, who returned the courtesy with the correct degree of civility. His puzzled face caused his mother to burst into peals of laughter.

  “My dear,” she cried, clapping her hands, “such interesting news. This gentleman has come all the way from Spain. And why do you think?”

  Devlin shook his head. He felt light-headed, possibly the effects of the duel the night before and very little sleep afterward.

  “I have not the faintest idea, Mama, but please enlighten me.” He gave the visitor a small smile.

  “He has come expressly from Fenella’s grandfather who is called …?” She turned to look at the visitor who helpfully supplied the name.

  “Don Miguel de Carvalho.”

  “Fenella’s grandfather?” Devlin repeated the words as if in a daze. “But her parents are dead.”

  “That’s correct, they are no longer alive, Devlin,” said his mother sharply, “but her parents had parents, or more specifically, Fenella’s mother had parents.”

  “Yes, of course they did,” said Devlin, feeling as if he had wandered into a stage theatrical and did not know his lines.

  “Devlin,” sighed his mother. “You are very dull-witted today. Fenella’s grandfather is Don Miguel de Carvalho, a Spanish grandee—a kind of nobleman, I surmise—and he lives on a huge estate in …?” She looked questioningly at her visitor.

  “Andalusia,” said Don Diego. He then took up the thread of the conversation. “Senhor, I come as ambassador for the noble Carvalho family. I have been with the family many, many years, both as friend and advisor. Don Miguel became estranged from his daughter, Dona Pilar, when she ran away with Colonel James Hawke. He never forgave her for leaving since it caused her mother to die of a broken heart. He also never forgave Colonel Hawke for marrying his daughter. However—” He shrugged expressively. “What else can be expected if the parents they forbid the marriage?”

  Devlin snapped out of his daze. He looked closer at the gold medallion hanging around the man’s neck. It resembled the worn locket Fenella owned. He pointed to it.

  “The emblem …is it the crest of the family?”

  “Oh, yes!” Don Diego smiled proudly. “It is of the Carvalho dynasty, a very old family, you understand. That is why Don Miguel he is so much the proud man.”

  “Why has he waited so long to look for his granddaughter?” asked Devlin, slow realization dawning in his mind. Fenella was of noble birth. All this time he had despised her, the girl came of more than respectable lineage.

  Don Diego’s face fell. “I am afraid that very often pride leads to the wrong kind of actions. Don Miguel could not forgive for a long time. He heard of the death of his daughter and later of her husband. It broke his heart because he had not made peace with his daughter before her death. He did not know about the child until two years ago. He waited until he could bear to wait no longer, and then he sent me to look for her.”

  He smiled at the Dowager. “It was not easy because the aunt of Dona Fenella had changed the girl’s last name, so the search went cold for a while. It is only recently, and by chance, I was able to discover the whereabouts of Dona Fenella.”

  “When did you arrive?” asked Devlin.

  “Very late last night,” interjected his mother. “I’m surprised you did not hear the horses.”

  “I …er …” Devlin’s voice petered out.

  “Never mind, ring for Blenkins and ask him to send for Fenella. What a surprise this will be for her.” She patted Don Miguel’s hand. “Such a darling girl, a ray of sunshine in our lives. She will be delighted to meet you. She has always wondered and agonized over her parentage.”

  She shot a sharp glance at Devlin, who reddened with discomfort. He knew what his mother was implying.

  Don Diego inclined his head. “Don Miguel will be overjoyed to be reunited with his granddaughter.”

  “Reunited?” Devlin’s query came out as a croak. His throat was suddenly dry.

  “Naturally,” chirruped his mother. “Fenella will be returning to Spain, of course. There’s nothing to hold her back here, is there, Devlin?”

  Again, he felt his mother’s words dig sharply into him. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.

  “Of course, she will probably take her aunt with her as a duenna and settle in Spain.” The Dowager turned to Don Diego. “Fenella will have no problems adjusting to Spanish society, Don Diego. She is fluent in several languages; she can ride and is well educated with very pretty manners. She will delight any Spanish suitors.”

  At this last riposte, the Dowager trilled with happy laughter. Devlin felt insane rage rising up inside him. What Spanish suitors? Pah! Why was his mother almost encouraging her departure to Spain? Devlin felt as if the situation was slipping out of his control.

  Don Diego’s face broke into a wide smile. “What wonderful news,” he cried. “Don Miguel was worried she would have no recollection of her Spanish heritage.”

  “I think you have Fenella’s father to thank for that.” The Dowager’s rebuke was gentle, but pointed.

  Don Diego bowed his head in perfect understanding.

  The Dowager looked at Devlin. “Ring for Blenkins, my dear.”

  Blenkins appeared and the Dowager asked him to call Fenella. He looked uncomfortable.

  “I’m afraid Miss Fenella is not here, Your Grace.”

  “Not here?” asked the Dowager. “Nonsense! Of course, she’s here. She’s probably in the garden. Send Roberts to look for her.” She waved a dismissive hand.

  “Beg pardon, Your Grace.” Blenkins appeared more disconsolate than ever. “Mrs. Perkins has been informed by Molly that Miss Fenella has gone.”

  The Dowager raised her eyebrows and Don Diego looked anxious.

  “Gone? Where could she possibly have gone, Blenkins? Are you telling me Miss Fenella has left the house on foot and carrying her luggage?”

  Blenkins was not generally given to squirming but at that precise moment, he squirmed.

  “Ah, it appears that Miss Fenella had some form of transportation, Your Grace and …” His voice tailed off in surprise when the Duke leaped up as if electrified and thrust past him out of the room.

  * * * *

  The Dowager patted Don Diego’s hand and whispered, “Do not be alarmed, Sir. Leave this all to me. I am aware of what is happening.” She waved a letter under his nose. “She is perfectly safe and I am sure she will be back within the hour.”

  Don Diego, who had formed his own opinion of the situation by observing Devlin’s reactions, nodded. “I trust you, my lady.”

  “Good,” she smiled. “Now let us have tea while my son puts matters to rights as he should have done long ago.”

  Don Diego hid a grin: who said the English were cold fish in matters of the heart? Here was passion enough unfolding before his very eyes.

  * * * *

  Devlin raced up the stairs to Fenella’s bedroom. Not only was it completely devoid of any sign of habitation, but there were no signs that she had ever occupied it. He stormed out and bumped into Mrs. Perkins.

  “Mrs. Perkins!”

  The housekeeper dropped him a curtsey.

  “Where is …ah…was Miss Preston’s room? I thought she occupied this bedroom.”

  Mrs. Perkins’s expression was subdued, but Devlin took no notice.

  “Her Grace moved Miss Fenella to the back of the house, to the green and white bedroom overlooking the small garden while we had so many guests to accommodate.”

  Devlin’s heart sank. Sir Marcus had told the truth. On the night he had seen Sir Marcus drunkenly trying to open the door, Fenel
la had been fast asleep in another room. He strode down the passage and into the green and white bedroom. Molly, sniffing in a doleful manner, was placing dresses between layers of tissue paper. Devlin marched over to the wardrobe and flung it open.

  “What’s this nonsense?” he demanded. “Miss Preston has not left; here are all her clothes.”

  Molly swiped her hand across her nose, gave a last loud sniff and burst into tears. “They’re the ones ’er Grace gave to ’er. Miss Fenella only took ’er own things.”

  With that, Molly shot a reproachful glance at the Duke before burying her head in a trunk full of tissue paper.

  Devlin went red. Obviously, he had been a complete fool. If only he had not jumped to conclusions about the bedroom changes; if only he had waited for the truth before proposing to Lady Vane; if only he had known about the Spanish emissary …if only …

  A thought came to him. Of course, Fenella did not walk to the village. She had to have had help.

  “Finch!” He stormed back into his mother’s apartments. She was alone.

  “Where’s that Don …Don fellow?” he demanded.

  His mother levelled a cool stare at him. “He has stepped into the garden for a breath of fresh air. Just because you are to blame for this pickle, don’t burst in here and behave like a boor.”

  Devlin paced back and forth. “But she has gone, Mama!”

  “Of course she has gone,” his mother retorted. “I would also leave if I had been treated so abominably, as well as been humiliated by an unjust accusation of an improper liaison.”

  Devlin clenched his jaw in self-reproach. “What can I do, Mama?”

  “Get rid of that other creature for a start.”

  Devlin froze; he had already forgotten Lady Vane and her threats. When he recounted the meeting to the Dowager, she sighed with relief and said tartly, “Well thank Heavens you had at least a grain of sense to send that baggage packing.”

  “There could be a scandal, Mama. I’m not sure if you are aware…but Miss Preston’s father is a suicide.”

  Devlin looked so serious that his mother burst into inelegant laughter.

  “I know Fenella’s entire history and I do not care a jot; it does not signify as far as I’m concerned.” His mother’s tone was matter of fact. “I also don’t think many people will be prying into the whys and wherefores of his death. Lady Penelope will keep her mouth shut. Of course, she has to. If she blabs a word, then people will suspect she had a hand in it. Simply distract everyone by announcing your marriage to Fenella. It will be the grandest wedding of the year. That’ll get the old tabbies’ tongues wagging.”

  Devlin was relieved his mother was not concerned with possible scandal. Nevertheless, one problem remained. “She will not have me, Mama.”

  His mother stroked Scheherazade. “I am sure I would not have you after such uncouth conduct but there’s no accounting for taste, especially when a girl is in love.”

  Devlin gazed at his mother. “Don’t you understand, Mama? She does not love me if she has run away.” He paced up and down, kicking at the carpet.

  His mother clucked her tongue in vexation. “It is because she loves you that she has run away. Are you so blind, Devlin? You have had much experience with women, but very little experience of them. You still don’t understand how the female mind works. She has been insulted by your constant reminder to her that she is of low birth, something we all now know to be untrue, as well as your accusations of an affair. She thinks you despise her.”

  Devlin stood still, nonplussed. He felt like an awkward adolescent grappling with new and strange emotions. Then a realization washed over him in a hot wave. He was in love. He loved Fenella, and this sensation was what love felt like.

  “I think…no, I know I love Fenella,” he announced.

  “Of course you love her!” snapped his exasperated parent. “And of course she loves you. Not that you deserve it after the way you have behaved.”

  “I will marry her,” Devlin declared.

  “Perhaps you haven’t noticed,” added his mother, “but unless you hurry up and get her back, you will lose her. Perhaps to some handsome man she may meet on the coach to London.”

  “I nearly lost her once.”

  “Well, if you’re just going to stand there, then you deserve to lose her again.” His mother’s tone was laden with asperity. “Don’t you think you’d better get along?”

  Devlin looked at her, bewildered.

  The Dowager sighed. “I find you most slow-witted this morning. I almost think your dreadful cousin Oswald would make a better Duke. Go and fetch her.” Her last command came nearly as a shout. Devlin was galvanized into action.

  “You say she loves me, Mama?”

  His mother merely waved him out the room.

  Devlin raced down the stairs, yelling for Finch.

  Finch was waiting at the front of the house, holding a restless Lucifer by the reins. Devlin glared at his head groom, who hung his head in shame.

  “Ye’ll be wantin’ me to go then, Yer Grace? Ye’ll be turnin’ me off?” His voice was gruff as he avoided Devlin’s eyes.

  “I could kick you all the way to the village, you scoundrel.”

  Finch bit his lip. “But I couldn’t let Miss Preston walk, Sir, and besides, I know which coach she’ll be on.”

  Devlin flashed a reluctant smile and Finch grinned. “The gig’s all ready as well, Sir, so’s to bring back ’er bags ’n all.”

  Devlin leaped onto Lucifer. “You’ll have a hard time catching me up.”

  “I’ll be there,” Finch promised him.

  With a loud neigh, Lucifer galloped off, scattering gravel as he thundered past. Finch stood looking after them as horse and rider disappeared down the drive.

  “Ride, Sir,” he muttered. “Ride!”

  Chapter Twenty

  The Accommodation coach rocked alarmingly from side to side as the driver urged the straining horses along the rutted road. It was a lumbering monstrosity, already top-heavy with several outside passengers on the roof, the boot laden with baggage and the bewhiskered guard sitting up behind. Fenella had had no trouble in purchasing a ticket since one of the booked passengers had failed to arrive.

  “Well,” remarked the driver, casting a curious glance at Fenella’s pale, pinched face and anxious expression, “if they don’t come along, they don’t get the seat. Hop up, little missy. Ye’re in a hurry then to get to Lunnon?”

  Fenella nodded and squeezed herself into the already crowded interior between a stout woman who had all the appearance of a prosperous farmer’s wife, and a scrawny man with a large moustache. He whined about there being no room for one more body.

  “Nonsense,” said the farmer’s wife. “Yer no gen’leman, that’s fer sure. She’s jes’ a wee mite. Move up!”

  With that, she extended a large red hand and pushed the scrawny man further along the seat. Fenella sat down with a grateful smile. Her benefactress gave her a large grin and opened a basket of provisions. Delicious smells wafted to Fenella’s nose. Although she had not eaten since the previous night, the strain of the events had killed her appetite …until now. She eyed the chicken pasties and fruitcake hungrily. The farmer’s wife laughed.

  She plopped a pasty onto Fenella’s lap. “Your eyes is devourin’ me basket already.”

  Fenella bit gratefully into the pasty, savouring each morsel.

  “Are you ’eading fer Lunnon too?” The question was unashamedly curious. Fenella nodded vigorously, her mouth full.

  “Oi expects ye’ll be seeking a post as a—” The farmer’s wife cast an experienced eye over Fenella’s neat appearance. “—governess then?”

  Again, Fenella nodded. It was the truth. This time she would be firm with herself and make sure she secured a post with an unexciting, perfectly respectable, middle-class family with no handsome relatives of noble blood to knock her plans awry. And definitely no dangerous dukes popping out the woodwork.

  “Yer got relative
s there?”

  Fenella swallowed the last mouthful. “Yes, I have,” she replied honestly. “My aunt—my father’s sister. My parents are dead.”

  “Pore little thing,” crooned her new friend. “Well, yer just take care o’ yerself there and don’ be fooled by no sweet talkin’ gents, see? ’Cause ye’re a real beauty and ye ’ave to be so careful wi’ the men.”

  Fenella nodded; she had learned this fact to her cost. She put her head back against the seat rest and tried to sleep. She was exhausted. After leaving Devlin at the foot of the stairs, Fenella had cried for several hours on her bed. The tears had flowed faster and longer than she had ever thought possible. Everything was confusion and turmoil. Fenella reflected upon her own foolishness. She had allowed herself to become emotionally embroiled so easily.

  Such naiveté; such idiotic and immature conduct.

  Well, it would not happen again.

  The vision of Devlin’s face floated in front of her eyes. She squeezed them shut even harder in an effort to push away the picture of his beloved face. It seemed as if she was going mad; now she imagined she could hear his voice. Then she froze. Her eyes flew open.

  She could hear his voice.

  It was Devlin, ordering the coach to stop. She shrank down into the seat. He must not find her.

  Lucifer stood in the middle of the road and pawed the ground as the coach lumbered slowly to a halt, like some ancient and decrepit behemoth. The driver eyed him warily and the guard peeped nervously over the mound of luggage to see if the interruption was, in fact, a highwayman. To the simple country folk, he must have seemed a menacing figure; the great black horse snorting and lifting its forelegs in the air; the handsome rider casting a searching gaze at the coach. The vehicle slid to a standstill. Devlin dismounted and walked to the door. It flew open and several heads poked out, a babble of irate voices demanding in both shrill and gruff tones the reason for the stop.

  “I apologise for the delay,” said Devlin, with an exquisite bow, “but I am looking for someone. I believe the person is on the coach.” He peered inside.

  All the passengers’ heads bobbed around as they eyed at each other with suspicion. The intruder was obviously a man of quality, so what could he want with a person who travelled on the Accommodation coach, that being a means of transport for lesser mortals.