Love's Promise

by Cheryl Holt

  “Of course.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He forbade me from coming to you.”

  “Yet you came anyway?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your brother? What was his opinion?”

  “He had no comment.”

  He made a scoffing sound, and his shoulders slumped. She walked over to him, and she rested her hand on his back.

  “After the duel,” she said, “after I saw you wounded, and Miss Carrington hurt, I went home, but it seemed that I’d gone to the wrong house. I don’t belong there anymore.” She paused, letting her words sink in, risking all for love. “I belong here with you. You knew that I did, and now, I know it, too.”

  He turned to face her.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” he choked out. If she’d been torturing him on the rack, he couldn’t have appeared more wretched.

  “Because I love you.”

  “And you would marry me—today—if I could get a license and a vicar?”

  “I would marry you this very second.”

  “What about your precious bloodlines? What about your fancy pedigree and your lofty family name?”

  “I’ve been an idiot, Phillip, and I’m sorry. My entire life, I’ve obeyed my father and lived like a fool. Can you forgive me? Can you give me another chance?”

  “Fanny Carrington is here.”

  “I assumed that she was.”

  “I’ve informed her that she can remain for as long as she likes.”

  “She’s your sister, and I swear I’ll come to care for her as you have.”

  His gaze narrowed, and his voice was rough, as if he was daring her. “I’ve made a vow to myself, that I will assist my half-siblings. It might mean shelter or funds or other types of aid I haven’t even contemplated. I wouldn’t tolerate any complaint from you. What do you think of that?”

  “I think you’re the kindest man I’ve ever known.”

  “Fanny is increasing—with your brother’s child.”

  “I can’t believe it! Michael never told us!”

  “The baby will be your niece or nephew. Mine, too, and I spent yesterday, waiting to hear if she miscarried. Are you upset that she didn’t? After all, an illegitimate child isn’t really a child, is it? A miscarriage would have wrapped things up so neat and tidy—no fuss or embarrassment for the Wainwrights.”

  “I’m not that callous, Phillip. You’re being unfair.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes, you are.”

  She stared into his eyes, seeing the grief and sorrow written there. He was a very loyal person. When he loved, it was real and solid and true, and he was bereft over events, over his inability to arrange the ending for Fanny that he felt she deserved.

  He looked as if he’d aged ten years in the past twenty-four hours, and his misery made her realize how she could help him the most: She could take charge. It was what she did best, what she’d learned by running the Duke’s household. When no one else could figure out how to proceed, she led the way.

  “It will be all right, Phillip,” she gently said. “I’m here now. Everything will be fine. Lean on me for a bit, would you?”

  She stepped in and snuggled herself to him from top to bottom. For the merest instant, he stood, stiff as a board, but quickly, he relented and crushed her to his chest. Then he was kissing her and kissing her, the embrace continuing on forever. When he finally drew away, he slipped his hand into hers and started for the stairs. They climbed to his room.

  She was an optimist who’d anticipated that she’d sway him, and she’d brought along one very sexy negligee just in case. A competent servant had found the garment and laid it across the edge of the bed, predicting—and rightly so—that Anne wasn’t going anywhere.

  When Phillip saw it, he chuckled.

  “It looks as if you’re staying.”

  “Yes, it looks as if I am.”

  “I hope we give the Duke an apoplexy.”

  “So do I.”

  He tumbled onto the mattress and pulled her down with him, her cheek resting directly over his heart. In two seconds, he was fast asleep with her in his arms as if she’d always been just there and nowhere else.

  Michael stood on the verandah, reading a demand letter his father had given him earlier in the evening. A bailiff had arrived at one of their properties in the country, the estate where Michael had spent most of his time as a boy. The furnishings were being assessed to pay one of the Duke’s promissory notes, and with it being such a public act, the chances of keeping his fiscal crisis a secret were over.

  Debt collectors, sensing a fiasco, would begin to circle, would seek recompense on old bills that had been ignored, but the Duke didn’t have sufficient resources to meet his obligations. So what was the answer besides marriage to Rebecca?

  Despite the Duke’s being unworthy of any allegiance, Michael was a loyal son. He felt such a heavy responsibility to wed Rebecca, to get his hands on her fortune and stave off calamity. But should he?

  For once, he was wavering. A small voice kept asking: what if?

  What if he walked away? What if he left the Duke to rot? Many would suffer, but Michael would be free of the Duke’s influence and control. Could he do it? Could he save himself at the expense of others?

  He didn’t think so. The Duke was his father, the properties Michael’s legacy that he would eventually leave to his own sons. It simply wasn’t in him to behave so selfishly.

  He gazed off toward the river, though there wasn’t much to see. It was a dark night, but the fog had lifted, and there were boats out on the water, their lamps reflecting like tiny stars.

  He was curious about the sailors who manned them, if they were content with their difficult lives and meager circumstances. Perhaps they were so poor that they didn’t realize they were miserable.

  If you’d never had anything to lose, how could you know what you were missing?

  He thought about Fanny, and he worried about how she was doing. Phillip would watch over her, so Michael didn’t need to fret, but still, he couldn’t help it. He was so glad their baby was all right, and he wondered if it would be a boy or a girl, if Fanny had picked a name for it.

  Anne was probably with Phillip, too. How was it that Phillip had wound up caring for the only two women Michael had ever loved? How was it that everything had gone so wrong?

  In hindsight, his quarrel with Phillip seemed so senseless. He’d been so angry, but he couldn’t remember why. There wasn’t a reason good enough to explain why he’d shot Phillip, and he would be eternally ashamed to recall that he’d fired his pistol, but Phillip had not.

  If he could, he’d turn back the clock and fix his mistakes, would say that he was sorry over and over until they started to believe him.

  A door opened behind him, the sounds of the supper party wafting out, and he glanced over to see Rebecca approaching.

  With Anne having fled, Rebecca had assumed her place as hostess, as if she’d been hovering in the background and waiting for Anne to leave. Her competent usurping of Anne’s role left a bad taste in his mouth. It was too calculated, too sly.

  He’d already learned—to his perpetual detriment—that she would butt her nose into any situation, and he shuddered to imagine the battles they would wage in future years.

  Since the duel, their few conversations had been terse and tense, and he kept telling himself that their relationship would calm after the wedding, that he would find a way to tolerate her. It was only that so much had transpired in such a short time. He was laying too many sins at her door, when his own house was crumbling from the weight of his transgressions.

  They would have to muddle through, despite the fact that he was desperately in love with another woman and probably always would be.

  “Michael,” she said, “I need you to come inside and lead us in to supper. The housekeeper advises me that everything is prepared.”

  “Marvelous,” he replied, her tone setting his teeth on edg
e. “Hasn’t anyone noticed that Anne’s not here? Not even the housekeeper?”

  “If Anne wishes to shirk her duty to your father, I am happy to assist him in her stead.”

  “Anne didn’t shirk anything. She finally got sick of him. You haven’t discovered what he’s truly like, but you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

  “The Duke is a fine man,” she insisted.

  “No he’s not. He’s a rude, offensive ass.”

  He was sipping a brandy, and just to spite her, he tossed down the contents, then childishly, he pitched the glass over his shoulder, and it smashed on the stones of the terrace below.

  He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  She was trembling with fury, her lips pursed in a fashion that was terribly unattractive.

  “I don’t care what you do,” she fumed. “I don’t care how you act. You won’t change my mind. You’re marrying me, so you might as well get used to the notion.”

  “Oh, I’m used to it. Are we going in or not?”

  She glared at him. “We will go in when I have composed myself. You’ve given everyone sufficient theatrics, and I won’t have them snickering at us.”

  “If you’re so miserable, you don’t have to wed me. Let’s walk into the parlor and announce that we’re calling it quits. No one will be shocked. I’ll take all the blame. You can say any appalling thing about me that tickles your fancy. It will most likely be true, so I won’t argue with any allegation.”

  “You think I would call it off?” She sputtered with indignation. “After what I’ve endured, you think I would refuse to proceed? If that’s what you suppose, then you don’t know me at all. Besides, you have to marry me. You have no choice.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No. I’ve learned about your financial troubles. The rumors have spread across the city. Did you actually imagine you could keep it a secret?”

  “My financial troubles?”

  “Yes.”

  How typical that gossip was circulating, but it was all wrong. People automatically presumed he was the one with the problem. His clerks and solicitors had been the ones trying to shore up the Duke’s pecuniary dam. The Duke had done nothing, assuming that Michael would rescue him.

  “You need my money,” she pointed out, “which means you need me. So I have no idea why you’re making this so difficult. You ought to be down on you knees; you ought to be thanking me.”

  He scoffed with derision. “You recognize that I’ll constantly have affairs, don’t you? I have neither the desire nor the ability to be faithful.”

  “I don’t expect any better conduct than what I’ve already witnessed, and so long as you’re not involved with Miss Carrington, your philandering won’t bother me in the least.”

  “And you’re aware that I’ll behave exactly as I please. Even if it mortifies you, even if it enrages you.”

  “It can’t possibly get any worse than it’s been, and I’ve survived.”

  “You might be surprised at what I’ll do.”

  “Trust me: I won’t be surprised.”

  “Considering how you detest me,” he said, “I can’t see what you’re hoping to prove.”

  “I don’t detest you.” Her eyes burned with animosity. “Now then, may we go in?”

  “Yes, we may.”

  He knew he should cry off and save them both from tragedy, but a gentleman wasn’t allowed to retract a proposal, and he couldn’t bring himself to fret overly much about what happened. He had to marry, and if he couldn’t have Fanny, what did it matter who he wed? It could be Rebecca or any woman.

  She would be wretched forever, but she didn’t seem concerned, or it could be that she was too young to grasp the consequences of her decision.

  He sighed with resignation. He’d given her a chance to break off with some amount of grace. He’d warned her and threatened her and tried to reason with her, but she was determined to forge ahead to catastrophe.

  So be it. By Wednesday afternoon, he would be a married man.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “Where is Thomas?”

  The Duke glanced up from the papers on his desk and scowled at Michael.

  “I beg your pardon? Were you addressing me?”

  Michael stormed into the room. “Yes, you bastard. Where is Thomas?”

  The Duke was innocence itself. “Why? Is he missing?”

  “I just rode to Wainwright Manor to bring him back for the wedding tomorrow, and he’s not there. What have you done with him?”

  The Duke bit down a grimace. Michael had been so distressed and preoccupied by events that the Duke had hoped weeks—or even months—might pass before he realized the boy had disappeared.

  “Why on earth”—the Duke was stalling for time—“would you want Thomas to attend the wedding?”

  “Because I want him there. Need I another reason?”

  “We’re having a small, private family gathering. It’s hardly the place for a child of Thomas’s position.”

  “And what position would that be? He is John’s son and my nephew.”

  “You see?” the Duke said. “He’s barely related on both counts.”

  The Duke was being combative, which was the worst attitude to take with Michael, but he was too furious to be circumspect.

  Anne had only been gone for two days, and Phillip Sinclair already had lawyers demanding that some sort of dowry be paid. Phillip knew that the Duke didn’t have one to hand over, yet he’d proceeded anyway, and the fact that Anne had run off with the half-blood, illegitimate wastrel was the most heinous insult she could have delivered.

  “What is wrong with you?” Michael was nagging. “When will you cease to harangue about Thomas’s parentage?”

  “Never. I will never stop. Lineage is all that matters, and Thomas hasn’t any of consequence. That pesky detail can never be changed. He’s a bastard, and as such, he will never enjoy the same advantages as respectable people. I don’t care how idiotic John chose to be when he wrote his will. Thomas will not benefit. Not as long as I draw a breath.”

  “You’ve met Thomas. You’re aware of what a wonderful boy he is. How can you say that?”

  “Ancestry is the bedrock of society, the foundation of how civilizations carry on. I will not sit at your wedding and pretend that our station has no value. I will not pretend that Thomas is welcome with his betters.”

  “Fine then, you don’t need to come. We’ll hold the ceremony without you.” Michael leaned in, both palms on the desktop. “Where is he?”

  The Duke recollected how awful the past few weeks had been, how much he had detested being a father. He’d done everything for Michael and Anne, yet they were a pair of ingrates.

  When the Duke didn’t answer Michael’s question, Michael roared, “Where is he?”

  The Duke smirked. “I’ve sent him away to school.”

  “To school...” Michael repeated the words as if he didn’t comprehend their meaning.

  “Yes, and it’s quite far from London. There’s no way you’ll be able to get him here in time for the ceremony.”

  “You made the decision with no input from me.”

  “No, none at all.”

  “Who is his guardian, Father?”

  “You are, Michael.”

  “Then by what authority would you take such a step?”

  “Authority!” the Duke sputtered. He rose to his full height, and he was so angry that little red circles formed at the edge of his vision. “I am Duke of Clarendon, and you will remember to whom you are speaking! If I want to send that boy to school, if I want to conscript him into the Navy, if I want to beat him, or starve him, or drown him in the Thames, I will, and you will not gainsay me!”

  He emphasized his remarks by pounding his fist on the desk, his bellow ringing off the high ceiling, and as always occurred during their quarrels, a woman rushed in, but it wasn’t Anne. It was Rebecca, and on seeing her, the Duke was momentarily confused.

  From the morning she had wa
rned him about the duel, she’d been underfoot. Who had given her permission to assume Anne’s duties? How had she usurped so much influence and control?

  “What is it?” she asked as Anne always had. “I heard shouting.”

  “Rebecca,” the Duke snidely said, “I’m so glad you’ve arrived. Your fiancé wants Thomas Carrington to come to your wedding, and I’ve been explaining to him why he can’t.”

  “No, he can’t come,” she concurred. “He’s not invited. I don’t want him there.”

  “You don’t want him,” Michael murmured.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, I do,” Michael told her.

  “It’s the bride’s wedding more than the groom’s, and I’m afraid I have to insist.”

  “And why is that?” Michael inquired.

  “Because he’s a child, and even if he were an adult, he wouldn’t be a suitable guest.”

  “Not suitable? You can actually look me in the eye and tell me that my brother’s only child is not suitable?”

  “Yes, I can,” she said. “Besides, he’s in Cornwall.”

  The Duke could barely keep from wincing, and he wished he’d gone over and clamped a hand over her mouth before she’d had a chance to blurt it out.

  “And how do you know?” Michael seethed.

  “Your father and I discussed it, and we agreed that it was the best solution for everyone.”

  “You discussed it with the Duke?”

  “Yes.”

  “My, how interesting,” Michael mused.

  “I’m about to be his aunt. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t have.”

  “There’s just one slight problem.”

  “What is that?”

  “I am Thomas’s guardian. Not you and not my father. I had him situated—at Wainwright Manor.”

  “But you can’t have considered it seriously. It’s not fitting for him to live at the Manor as if he were the lord, as if it were his property. What would people say?”

  The Duke shook his head in disgust. In dealing with Michael, the stupid girl had to learn to be more subtle. She had to go behind his back, had to hide details and cover her tracks.

  “You don’t think Thomas should reside in his father’s house?” Michael resembled a cat, toying with a mouse. “The house his father bequeathed to him? You don’t think he should live there?”