“I’ve a letter for you, Sabine,” Tessa said, reaching across her desk. “Before he sailed, Stoker asked me to give it to you.”
The three women were gathered around the fire in the library that Tessa designated as her office at home. Outside the window, snow fell on the garden fountain, frosting it like a wedding cake.
“Oh, right. Thank you.” Sabine snatched the letter and tucked it beneath her skirts. She took a prolonged sip of tea.
Tessa and Willow shared a look.
“You and Mr. Stoker seem to carry on quite a lively correspondence,” suggested Tessa. She raised an eyebrow. “That is, for people who take such care never to interact in person.”
Sabine looked out the window.
Willow said, “And for people who also happen to be married.”
Sabine turned back, smiling. “Try if you must, but I’ll not be baited. We were meant to never see these men, remember?” She pointed a finger at Willow. “You promised. You said we would advertise for them and give them our dowries and then never bother with them again. I can’t help if the two of you spoiled the plan by falling in love. Jon Stoker and I have simply done as you promised. We’re going by the designated rules.”
“You,” said Willow, “are hiding.”
Sabine shot her a look. “Yes, I am hiding. Hiding at a known address in a public city where I receive frequent mail from the man.” She waved the letter in the air.
“But what does he write you?” asked Tessa.
“Oh, it’s nothing personal, if that’s what you think. He’s being hounded by an old man in Mayfair who claims to be his long-lost father. When it is convenient, I run errands pertaining to this man’s harassment and pass along information to Stoker.”
Both of the women gasped. Willow said, “But I thought Stoker’s father was a mystery, even to him. According to Cassin, he wears his illegitimacy like a badge of honor. Is he not thrilled? Is it harassment to be contacted by a long-lost father?”
Sabine tucked the letter away again. “The old man wants money, I believe. Likely he would never have sought him out if Stoker had not become a millionaire.” She made an expression of distaste. “He’s an impoverished aristocrat from what I gather.” Another shrug. “The forgotten Duke of Something or Other.”
“A duke?” asked Tessa and Willow in unison.
Sabine stared at her lap, refusing to say more.
Tessa and Willow shared another glance but decided not to press. When Sabine wished for them to know, she would tell them.
Suddenly, Sabine looked up. “You’ve been getting a significant amount of mail in Belgravia yourself, Tessa.” She nodded toward the letters she’d stacked on the corner of Tessa’s desk.
Tessa frowned. “Oh, yes. Those. I will read them eventually. I’ll have to shore myself up before each one. They’ve sent as many to Joseph’s address in London, and they are forwarded here. He reads them first to prepare me. I’m not sure why we bother, it’s always more of the same.”
Tessa’s parents had learned of her lavish estate in County Durham and Joseph’s wild success with the guano importation. Not long after, the letters began. In one note, her mother had even referenced Tessa’s work in the thriving Hartlepool dockyard. They wrote, after all this time, to apologize and request a new peace. To meet the baby. To make amends.
“Because of the money—as with this man ‘hounding’ Stoker?” Willow asked.
Tessa shrugged. “Certainly the money and the house has not hurt.” She stared into her teacup. “We did not hear from them before the house or the dockyard success.”
“But will you see them?” asked Willow.
“I haven’t decided,” sighed Tessa. “So many of their values would have to be amended. I could not tolerate one ill word said against Christian—not one word of judgment, not even a sidelong glance. But they send gifts. Joseph has learned that they discuss me with their London friends as if there is no rift at all.” She laughed without humor. “‘Rift’ is a generous word for what exists between us.”
“If they mean only to exploit your success to impress their friends,” said Sabine, “then why would you forgive them?”
Tessa nodded. “In the end, I’m less concerned with what they want or why and more about the effort it takes for me to remain angry. I am the one who suffers when I hold such bitter resentment so close to my heart. It takes work to polish and shine an old hurt all these years.”
“What does Joseph say?” asked Willow.
A knock on the open door interrupted their conversation, and the women spun.
Joseph, holding Christian, and Cassin crowded the doorway.
“Joseph says,” said Joseph, “let us eat and put this baby to bed. I’ve an important announcement to make, and it calls for food and wine and friends—and no babies.”
“Yes, babies!” said Christian, throwing his hands in the air.
Tessa’s friends looked to her, question in their eyes.
“Twenty more minutes, darling?” Tessa asked.
“Right,” said Joseph. “Then you may enjoy Dollop for those last twenty minutes. Cassin and I will embark on the wine.” He stooped to release Christian, and the toddler waddled to his mother and crawled in her lap.
Tessa kissed the top of his head and spun him to face her friends. “Go,” she said, waving the men away. “Twenty minutes more. Will you send word to the kitchen?”
“Papa,” Christian informed the two women smiling at him. He pointed at his retreating father.
“Quite so,” said Sabine, grabbing his tiny foot. “And what great announcement does your Papa have for us tonight? Why such a fuss?” She glanced up at Tessa.
Tessa tried and failed to hide a smile. “Hold on to your purses, ladies. Mr. Joseph Chance is about to make a run for Parliament. But shh. Please don’t let on that you know. He wished it to be a surprise.”
“Tessa! How exciting,” enthused Willow. “You’ll not manage to keep your parents away now. A son-in-law in Parliament? But I’m glad you told us. Naturally I assumed you would announce another baby on the way. My confused stare would hardly be the reaction Joseph expected.”
“Oh, well,” rambled Tessa, blushing just a little. She squeezed Christian until he squawked. “There is that announcement as well, but even Joseph does not know it. I was going to tell him tonight. After he’d had his moment crowing about the campaign.”
“Tessa!” said Sabine, leaping from her chair to hug her. Willow crowded in, forming a circle embrace of three laughing-crying women and a bucking toddler.
“But when will it come?” asked Sabine.
“Would you believe it? I know the answer this time,” said Tessa. “In mid-May, just as Christian did. But we will do everything differently this time, won’t we?” She kissed Christian’s furry head. “Papa will be here, Mama will know what she’s doing. And we’ll have a big brother to help.”
“Brother!” said Christian, and the women laughed. Tessa clamped a hand over his mouth. “Shh, Dollop. But can you keep a secret until tomorrow?”
“Secret brother!” said Christian.
Sabine sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “Right you are, Christian. I just love a secret baby, don’t you?” She winked at her friend.
“Not as much as we love strangers who marry and part ways,” said Tessa. She raised a brow. “Only to meet again.”
Sabine narrowed her eyes.
“Meet again!” parroted Christian, hoping to elicit another laugh from his mother and her pretty friends.
Which they did.
All except for Sabine, who merely smiled and looked away, fingering the sealed letter tucked beneath her skirts.
You May Kiss the Duke
Discover Sabine and Stoker’s road to love in
YOU MAY KISS THE DUKE
On Sale February 2019
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author CHARIS MICHAELS believes a romance novel is a long, entertaining answer to the
question, “So, how did you two meet?” and she loves making up new ways for fictional characters to almost not meet but live happily ever instead. She was raised on a peach farm in Texas and gave tours at Disney World in college but now can be found raising her family and writing love stories from her screened-in porch in the mid-Atlantic.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
By Charis Michaels
The Brides of Belgravia
Any Groom Will Do
All Dressed in White
Coming Soon
You May Kiss the Duke
The Bachelor Lords of London
The Earl Next Door
The Virgin and the Viscount
One for the Rogue
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
all dressed in white. Copyright © 2018 by Charis Michaels. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition AUGUST 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-268581-0
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-268584-1
Cover design by Amy Halperin
Cover art by Fredericka Ribes
Avon Impulse and the Avon Impulse logo are registered trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America.
Avon and HarperCollins are registered trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.
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All Dressed in White EPB Page 30
