A Duchess in Name

by Amanda Weaver

  This morning her belly felt tender, and she was forced to admit her courses had only been delayed, not stopped. There would be no baby. She’d let him back into her bed, made herself vulnerable to him, to get a child and now it seemed even that wasn’t meant to be. She’d been left with no baby, no husband and a heart in pieces.

  Wallowing only made things worse, so she forced herself to sit up in bed. Louisa and Emma had left for Scotland days before. Upon their departure, she threw herself into estate business to distract herself. The harvest was wrapping up, and there were so many projects underway that had to be completed before winter closed in. There was always a task to be attended to, another way to hide from her pain.

  March would be arriving soon, so she pulled herself from the bed and rang for Molly to help her dress. While she waited, she turned Andrew’s letter over in her hands. She’d read it tonight, when she was alone. She’d write back, of course, as she always did. She tried to keep the tone of her letters light and easy, but it was no small task. She blathered on about the harvests and fields and livestock, leaving out anything personal. If Andrew had noticed the change, he hadn’t said so.

  Molly came in silently, helping her into her dove-gray day dress and arranging her hair.

  “How are you feeling, Your Grace?” Molly asked, settling a few more pins into place.

  “I’m well, Molly, thank you.”

  “It’s only that you haven’t touched your breakfast today. You’ve barely touched the breakfast tray in weeks. Are you sure you don’t need the doctor?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me a doctor can fix. Now I’d better get down to Mr. March and see to finalizing those planting plans for the spring.”

  “You’ve been working yourself too hard. Can’t His Grace take care of some of this business for you?”

  She looked up, meeting Molly’s eyes in the mirror. “I think we’d better learn to do without his help.”

  Victoria rose and went down to find her estate manager. Briarwood was all she had left now, and it would always need her.

  Mr. March was at his usual place in the study, puzzling over an unfamiliar ledger. He looked up when she entered.

  “Good morning, Your Grace.”

  “Good morning, Mr. March.”

  He scowled slightly. “Are you well? You seem peaky. I can manage the plans if you’re unwell—”

  “No, that’s quite all right. I’m fine.” She must truly look a fright if even Mr. March noticed.

  “If you’re certain.”

  “Please, Mr. March, let’s get to work.”

  “Very well. Let me put these away.”

  “What are those?” she asked. He stacked the ledgers in a tidy pile and moved them to the edge of the desk.

  “The financial records for the late duke. His business agent has finally settled the estate and is moving on to a new position. He sent the late duke’s ledgers on to me, since I’ve taken over for the current duke. These inheritances can take some time to settle.”

  “I hadn’t realized there was anything left to inherit,” she said crisply. “Until I came along, that is.”

  Mr. March cleared his throat. “Well. Even still. There are many legalities. Sorting it out was a big job. The late duke had many business interests needing to be dealt with. I hadn’t realized you met the current duke that way.”

  She looked up at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “I meant the late duke’s investment in your father’s railroad concern. I assumed that was how you met his son.”

  “The duke invested in one of my father’s companies?” A tremor of unease skittered down Victoria’s spine.

  “Ah, yes,” Mr. March flipped the top ledger open again and consulted a line. “It was a railway company in Canada. He was a majority shareholder. In truth, the only shareholder.”

  “Why didn’t either of them ever mention it?”

  “I can’t say. It doesn’t signify anyway. The railroad concern failed and the company was dissolved.”

  “What?” It was more than unease now. Something wasn’t right about this.

  “I only said the company foundered and was dissolved. Nearly two years ago now.”

  “My father’s never had a business fail.”

  “It happens to every great businessman now and then. It’s nothing to be concerned about. His finances seem rock-solid in every other way.”

  She shot to her feet, fist clenched. “It’s not about the money! He’s got loads of money because he never fails! Why did this company fail?”

  Mr. March’s bushy eyebrows rose at her uncharacteristic show of emotion. “I couldn’t say, Your Grace. The ledgers are incomplete on that count.”

  “And the late duke’s investment? Did he lose it?” She knew the answer before March even said it. Pieces were rapidly falling into place, and the picture they made was grim.

  “When a company fails, it generally takes the investor’s money with it. Your Grace, don’t alarm yourself over this. It has nothing to do with you. It was over and done with before you ever married the duke.”

  “Oh, I fear it might have everything to do with me. Will you excuse me, Mr. March? I’m afraid I’ve recalled some urgent business I must attend to at once.”

  * * *

  For the whole train ride to London, an avalanche of questions with no easy answers beat at her mind. How had the duke come to invest in her father’s company? And a railway? Her father had his hands in any number of business ventures, but to the best of her knowledge, he’d never had any interest in transport.

  Mr. March had said the duke was the only investor. How could a company have but one investor? And why had the business failed? Her father was a consummate and ruthless businessman. His companies simply didn’t fail. Even the struggling ones he purchased turned their circumstances around under his iron-fisted management. Nothing made any sense.

  Leaving Molly to wait on the sidewalk outside, she braced herself and entered Carson Enterprises. Inside the ornate marble lobby, a pale young man sat behind a large mahogany desk, guarding the wide central staircase.

  “May I help you?” he asked, raising a questioning eyebrow at Victoria. She didn’t waste time on niceties, instead choosing to wield the sword of her title.

  “I’m the Duchess of Waring, and I’ve come to see my father.”

  The man blanched whiter and stumbled to his feet.

  “Of course, Your Grace,” he said, bowing briefly. “This way, if you please.”

  She followed the young man up the staircase into the warren of offices above. She was led down a wide hallway, passing bustling young clerks and secretaries on all sides. At the end of the hall, a young woman sat behind a desk even larger than the one downstairs.

  “The Duchess of Waring is here to see her father,” Victoria’s guide said to the secretary.

  The woman stood. “I’ll see if he’s free.”

  Victoria drew herself up. “Don’t trouble yourself. He’ll be free to see me.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she pushed past both of them and opened the carved mahogany door to her father’s office. He was behind his desk, facing away from her, looking out the window as he spoke into a telephone. The room was massive and lined from floor to ceiling with bookcases, which she found ironic, seeing as her father hated reading, unless it was business reports. Papers covered the expanse of the desk.

  When the door clicked closed behind her, he swiveled in his chair, scowling, apparently ready to berate his secretary for disturbing him. Upon seeing Victoria instead, he stammered in the middle of his sentence and grew silent.

  “I need to speak with you,” Victoria said.

  Phillip Carson paused for a moment before speaking into the phone again. “I’ll ring you back, Mason. Something’s come up
here.”

  He set the earpiece in its cradle and leaned back in his chair, the buttons of his waistcoat straining over his enormous paunch. “What brings you here, Victoria? Is everything all right?”

  She advanced into the room. “Why, no, Father, everything is not all right.”

  “Perhaps you should call on your mother if something’s troubling you.”

  “I doubt that. I have questions only you can answer.”

  “Me?”

  “Since when have you been interested in the railway industry?”

  Her father froze, looking positively uneasy for the first time in her memory. His plump, red fingers fidgeted nervously with a stack of papers in front of him. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the Canadian railway company you owned. The one the late Duke of Waring invested in. The investment he lost when the company failed. Why did this company fail, with Waring’s money at stake?”

  Carson let out a gusty sigh and rubbed one hand across his bushy mustache. “Now see here, Victoria. The duke was in dire financial straits before I ever met him. He’d have done the family in one way or another in due time. He was in debt to everyone.”

  “So you figured if someone were to ruin him once and for all, it might as well be you?”

  “He had something I wanted. Well, something your mother wanted, at any rate.”

  Rage welled up, hot and fast. Of course. Damn her mother and her ambitions. Her father had ruined Andrew’s family for her sake, as some sort of bloody gift! When she spoke again, her voice shook with emotion. “Why did he ever consent to the match when it was your company that ruined him?”

  Her father’s eyes cut away. “He didn’t know I owned the company.”

  “You tricked him! You ruined Andrew’s family! You put Louisa and Emma in jeopardy, too!”

  “Who are Louisa and Emma?”

  “His sisters! Now my sisters. And they’re just girls. You did this to them not even knowing who you endangered. Was the business even legitimate, or did you let it founder on purpose?”

  “A small railway wasn’t much to lose in the grand scheme of things.”

  Each piece of the puzzle only made things worse. She closed her eyes and turned away, rubbing her fingertips over her forehead and the nagging pain there. Somehow she wasn’t even shocked at discovering her father’s perfidy. It was perfectly in keeping with his ruthlessness, and with her mother’s. Nothing would stand between them and what they wanted.

  But there was still something that didn’t fit. His family had been ruined and he was forced to marry for money, but she was hardly the only wealthy American girl. Why her, if he knew what her father had done?

  “Why me?” she finally asked out loud. “Why did he consent to marry me after what you did?”

  “We had an agreement in place.”

  “And how did you reach this agreement?”

  Her father spread his hands out wide. “Come now, Victoria, why do you want to know these unpleasant details?”

  She marched back to his desk, slamming her palms down on his stacks of papers. “Because it’s my life! He’s my husband. I deserve to know how it came to pass. Tell me everything, dammit!”

  For the second time that day, her father looked shocked. She’d never so much as raised her voice in his presence before. She’d barely spoken at all.

  “It was a card game.”

  “What?”

  “We were playing cards at the club. The duke won for a bit, and then he began to lose. He was in deep, especially considering his recent financial setback with the railway. He wanted one more hand, to try to win something back, but he had nothing left to wager. I suggested his son.”

  She staggered away from his desk, away from the horrible thing he’d admitted.

  “You won Andrew’s hand in marriage in a card game?”

  “It was his father’s choice to gamble it.”

  “Because you cheated him!”

  “The boy was going to have to marry for money one way or another. And now you’ve gotten a very nice title out of it. Your mother said you’d never see reason on the matter.” He sighed. “I’m heartily sorry you’ve learned about it at all.”

  “The problem is not that I learned about it, Father, the problem is that you did it. You lied and cheated and Andrew knows it. Did you ever stop to think how it might make him feel about me?”

  Her father gave a dismissive snort. “Don’t be sentimental. What does it matter how he feels? You’ve got his title and the estate. What do you need his tender feelings for?”

  The shame threatened to overwhelm her. Andrew had to have found out the truth. No wonder he’d hated her. Her eyes began to burn with unshed tears. “Yes, what use do I have for tender feelings? Lord knows I’ve known precious little of them from you or Mother.” She took a step back toward the door.

  “Victoria—”

  She didn’t hear what else he was about to say because she’d already turned and fled his office. The hallways and offices of Carson Enterprises were a blur as she stumbled past. As soon as Victoria burst from the building, Molly rushed forward, catching Victoria by the arms.

  “What is it, ma’am? Are you ill?”

  “No, not ill, only upset. Molly, will you hail a cab to take us back to the train station?”

  “It’s nearly four, Your Grace. Wouldn’t it be better to spend the night in London? At Waring House, perhaps? Or since it’s been closed up, maybe your parents’ house?”

  Where could she go? Not her parents’ house. Not Waring House, which still seemed the property of the late duke. Under the circumstances, she’d feel like an impostor there. Briarwood Manor was hers by a connection every bit as tenuous, gotten in the same underhanded manner, but she’d put her stamp on it. Her heart was in every inch of the house and acre of the land. If there was a place on earth that felt like her home, it was Briarwood. It was hers, even if Andrew no longer was.

  “I want to go home, Molly. Take me home.”

  * * *

  The headache and cramps plaguing her all day grew steadily worse on the train ride back to Basingstoke. If her heart was falling apart, it stood to reason that her body would, too.

  The sun had set when the train finally reached Basingstoke. Molly shot to her feet as soon as the car halted. “I’ll go ahead and call for the coach, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Molly. I’ll wait for you on the platform until it comes.”

  Her aching body protested as she stood up. Then a sharp pain sliced through her so suddenly, it stole her breath. She doubled over, clutching at the seat back and gasping for air. Something was dreadfully wrong.

  “Molly, I’m afraid I’m unwell.”

  Molly turned and hurried back to her. Something warm and wet rushed down her thigh under her petticoats and pain racked her body again. Molly’s arms closed around her waist just in time to catch her as her world went dark and her body went limp.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When Genevieve arrived, summoned by a frantic cable from Molly, Victoria had only been conscious for an hour. Gen flew across her bedroom, flinging her hat to the floor and peeling off her gloves as she went.

  “Good heavens, Vic! What’s happened to you?” Genevieve perched carefully on the bed and reached for her hand.

  Exhaustion made it hard to marshal her thoughts. “I lost the baby. I wasn’t even sure I was expecting.” Her voice broke on the last word and she trailed off in tears. It hadn’t entirely sunk in until she said it out loud. There had finally been a baby, and then...

  “Oh, poor Vic. You look so pale. Have you sent word to His Grace?”

  At the mention of Andrew, memories of the day before and all its horrific revelations flooded back and she had to stuff her fist against her mouth to s
mother the shriek welling up in her chest.

  “Don’t you think he should know? Despite the situation?”

  Victoria had written to Gen earlier, confiding what she’d discovered about his other life in Italy. Of course, Gen didn’t know about the rest, the whole horrible history of her marriage she’d uncovered the day before. For the life of her, Victoria wasn’t sure how she’d ever put it into words. It didn’t matter because, at the moment, speaking was far beyond her abilities. All she could do was cry out her heartbreak. Genevieve scooted closer across the snowy expanse of sheets to gather Victoria in her arms and hold her as she wept.

  Hours later, after Gen had coaxed a few spoonfuls of soup into her, she told her what she’d learned. She told Gen of Mr. March’s inadvertent slip and her subsequent trip to London, about the scene in her father’s office, when she learned the man she’d fallen in love with had been swindled into marrying her. And he’d known all about it.

  “Vic.” Gen held her face in her hands and looked into her eyes. “This isn’t your fault. You had no part in any of your father’s actions.”

  “I know that, Gen. But don’t you see? I knew he didn’t want to marry me. I didn’t know his family had been purposely ruined to force him into it. And I didn’t know he’d been cut off from the life he’d chosen for himself because of it. I can’t bear it. I just can’t.”

  “Shh. Don’t upset yourself. You’re still so pale and you feel a bit warm. The doctor said you need to rest, remember?”

  She began to protest but found she didn’t have the strength to. Her energy and will were utterly spent. All she wanted was to shut her eyes to the world and fall asleep forever, perhaps escape the misery of her reality.