The Good, the Bad, and the Duke

by Janna MacGregor

  “A loving family.” The duke chuckled. “We’re here to pick up Charlotte’s last belongings. If you don’t mind, I invited Emma and Somerton to join us for the holidays.”

  “Excellent. We’ll all be together as a family should be during the holidays. Come with me,” Alex said. He wove his way through a sea of luggage and servants still cradling his daughter in his arms, while the duke walked beside him.

  “I’m going to lay Truesdale on one of the sofas in the sitting room until we’re ready to leave.” Claire glanced at Daphne. “Oh, Daph, I hate to tell you this, but your traveling gown is stained from this morning’s skirmish. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not a problem.” Daphne dismissed her sister-in-law’s regret with a wave of her hand, then looked at her gown. Margaret had wiped the remnants of her tears and her nose across the bodice. “I’ve plenty of time to change my gown. The carriages won’t depart at least for another hour or so.”

  The words became lost in the pandemonium as her mother and Claire had already left to settle Truesdale in the rose sitting room away from the hubbub.

  With a sigh, Daphne dodged another footman who balanced a small trunk on his shoulder, then made her way to her room.

  A short time later she emerged from her chambers. After Daphne had changed, she’d taken a few minutes and written in her journal about Margaret and Truesdale’s latest skirmish. She checked her reflection in a hallway mirror and pinched her cheeks. She straightened the black lace trim around her neck and wrists, then smoothed her hands down the soft white velvet dress with coordinating red velvet spencer. With her straight black hair pulled back in a simple chignon trimmed with a red velvet ribbon, she was ready for the journey. She hoped her travel with her brother and sister-in-law to Pemhill would be easy.

  It certainly would be different.

  Since her mother had married the Duke of Renton, she lived with him now. For the first time ever, Daphne’s mother, the former Dowager Marchioness of Pembrooke, would not travel with the family to the ancestral seat. Instead, she and her new husband would leave for his ancestral home, Renton House, and spend a few private days together before joining the rest of the family on Christmas Day.

  Without hesitation, Daphne had decided to live with Claire, Alex, and their three children. She’d spent her entire life at the Pembrooke family estates and planned to remain doing the same until her circumstances changed. Her family hoped the changed circumstance was marriage.

  Daphne had a different idea. She’d been working for months with architects, builders, carpenters, and even Dr. Camden, the trusted family physician who had delivered Alex and Claire’s children, on the ideal property for her new charity. She’d instructed her solicitor to place a bid two weeks ago on the location, Winterford House. It would be perfect for the unwed mothers’ home she planned to establish.

  Daphne wrinkled her nose as she made her way downstairs. The holidays would be especially joyous and celebratory this year. She relished the upcoming New Year and the new beginnings it would offer to her personally.

  Without taking a breath, she swept her gaze about the entryway of the family’s London townhouse. Something was definitely amiss. The atrium was completely devoid of servants, luggage, or any of the other hustle and bustle of a busy household preparing to travel for the holidays.

  Daphne shook her head to clear the nightmare from her thoughts.

  They couldn’t have.

  Her family was gone. Daphne closed her eyes and clenched her hands into fists. They’d forgotten her. Once again, she’d been overlooked. Ever since she’d had her introduction to society, she’d tried to be the ideal daughter and sister. She never raised a ruckus.

  Always aware of her position in society, Daphne presented the persona of a perfect lady—always the good girl, always the quintessential Hallworth. She was even careful whom she danced with at society events.

  If any hint of fun could be construed as scandalous, Daphne refrained from participating, even when she desperately wanted to be in the thick of things. She’d claimed this high standard even though it chafed to subdue her own wants and desires. Determined to be flawless in her actions and deeds, she’d behaved properly for years, ever since her sister, Alice, had died. It was her way to help her mother and brother with their grief. They never had to worry about her behavior.

  Being left at home was her reward for being everything genteel and circumspect.

  She was invisible.

  She straightened her shoulders. It was beyond foolish to jump to conclusions. Once her family realized she was at home, they’d return posthaste. Such a thought failed to wrestle the worm of worry that burrowed deep. They’d left to celebrate the holidays without her.

  The under-butler Tait McBride entered the atrium, then stopped. He blinked his whisky-copper eyes slowly like an owl taking in its surroundings. “My lady, why aren’t you on your way to Renton House with your mother, Her Grace?”

  “Why would I go to Renton House with my mother?” Daphne asked.

  Tait clasped his hands behind his back. “The marquess informed Mr. Simms, who informed me, that you were traveling with the duke and duchess.”

  Her mother and new stepfather would not want her bumping along like a fifth wheel on a carriage in their early days of wedded bliss. “I told my mother I was traveling with the marquess and the marchioness.”

  With that thought, the truth slammed into Daphne, and she fought to maintain calm. If Alex thought she was with her mother and her mother thought she was with Alex, they wouldn’t discover she was missing until Christmas Day.

  She was truly home alone.

  Bloody hell. She would not cry.

  “What are your plans?” Inwardly, she winced at her tone. It was almost accusatory, and she scrambled for something else to say to Tait. “What I meant is, I’m in somewhat of a quandary.”

  That slight glimmer of compassion in his eyes made Daphne cringe inside. This was one of the few times she appreciated her obscurity. She’d developed a talent for hiding her emotions ever since her sister had died. Over the years, she’d had opportunities to hone her craft without others witnessing her failures and disappointments.

  Daphne despised having to ask him to wait with her, and for an instant she had an overwhelming need to push him out the door. Only then could she lick her wounds in private. But she needed him—at least until she found her way to Pemhill.

  “I plan to spend Christmastide with my mother, but I promised Mr. Simms I’d see everyone off before I headed over to her residence.” Tait glanced at the greatcoat and modest beaver hat resting on a kitchen chair. “He’d have my head if I left you here alone.”

  “Is anyone else coming to your mother’s home for the holiday?” she asked. “I don’t want to ruin your plans or inconvenience your family.”

  “No. It’s just me and my mother.” Tait’s eyebrows drew together.

  She hesitated, but she had little recourse. “I hate to impose, but would you and your mother stay with me? I hope it’ll just be for a while, until I … decide what the best course of action is.”

  He nodded once. “There’s no one in the stables. If I could find a courier, shall I hire him to take a message?”

  “No.” The confidence in her voice never wavered, but in that moment she understood her niece’s need to throw herself on the floor for a good cry. “It’s doubtful anyone realizes that I’m not with either my mother or my brother and his family.” She swallowed in an effort to tame her disappointment. “The truth is I might have to spend Christmas here in London.”

  “Say no more, my lady. My mother is the type of woman that would welcome helping you. She’d relish the opportunity to work again. Besides, she’s an excellent cook.” An affectionate smile tugged at Tait’s lips. “As a matter of fact, she’s waiting for me at the butcher shop with her Christmas goose. It’s our tradition that I escort both her and the goose home. Would it be acceptable if I meet and tell her our plans have changed? She’ll
worry otherwise. You’re welcome to join me, if you like.”

  “Go to your mother. But I think it wise that I stay here just in case Lord Pembrooke discovers I’ve been left in London.” There was little chance of that occurring, but if by some miracle someone realized she was home alone with no family, she wanted to be here. “Take your time. I’m sorry that I’m inconveniencing you both. Please bring your mother here, if she doesn’t mind waiting. Of course, the goose is welcome, too.”

  Tait chuckled as he put on his hat and coat. “I will escort them both here. Thank you, Lady Daphne.” With a tip of his hat, he was out the door.

  With a sigh, she secured and locked the door, then returned to the entry. She pulled her trunks to the center of the room and started to pace. If Alex arrived, she wanted to have her lecture memorized with a delivery that would blister his ears. Her well-crafted image of the perfect sister be damned. This was way beyond the pale for her to forgive. Imagine if she’d forgotten him—at the holidays, no less. She swallowed most of her indignation and closed her eyes.

  That wasn’t fair to Alex. He was a wonderfully kind and loving brother. He’d never deliberately hurt her, and she loved him dearly. She felt the same for her mother. The truth was they both thought she traveled with the other. Her heart plummeted, and she blinked rapidly to prevent the scalding tears that threatened. She had to face her new reality. As an adult, she wasn’t the first priority for either of them, and it was perfectly understandable. They were married, with new and different responsibilities.

  Numb with the knowledge that she was truly alone, Daphne sat on her trunk. This had to be what it was like to live as a spinster. Just like a clump of dust under the bed, no one really saw you, no one really wanted you, but everyone knew you existed.

  Her chest tightened, but she refused to allow her disappointment to run roughshod over her emotions. She would ignore the pain. She was a master at it after all the years of practice.

  A deafening silence greeted her. She’d never been alone in the house before. With all the fires dampened and the curtains drawn, the house had turned bitterly chilly. The lack of light reminded her of her own dimness. Suddenly, the wind whipped against the windows while intermittent gusts moaned menacingly as they skated down the brick chimney in the adjacent salon. She clasped the collar of her red spencer tighter at the eerie sounds.

  She rubbed her temples and narrowed her eyes.

  If neither her family nor any of the servants traveling with the family had realized she was alone, her best course of action might be to hire a carriage and an escort to Pemhill. She quickly rejected that plan. If someone came for her, their carriages might pass by each other on the road. She forced herself to inhale deeply, settling her heartbeat into a familiar rhythm. Perhaps she could stay with Emma, her best friend.

  “No!” She pressed her hand to her forehead. She had the worst luck in the world. Emma had mentioned that she and Somerton were leaving for Cambridge earlier in the week. This morning, the Duke of Renton had announced he’d invited Emma and Somerton to join the rest of the family at Pemhill once they were finished in Cambridge.

  There was no one left in town. There was only one conclusion she could draw. She’d spend the holiday alone in London.

  She straightened her shoulders, vowing she’d have her own jolly Christmas. If anything, she’d use this time wisely to examine her life and solidify her plans for her own residence. No longer would she depend upon her family. Without delay, she’d call on the family solicitor, Mr. Fincham, and direct him to find her a place she could call her own. With her inheritance from Aunt Beatrice, she had more than enough to lease or purchase a small townhouse in the city, establish her own household, and open her charity. No one, not even Alex, could tell her otherwise. She’d live her life the way she saw fit. Never again would she accept the hateful, dull nomenclature of “good girl.” Whatever she wanted she would go after.

  In the past, she’d listened to her brother’s arguments that she not create a home for unwed mothers. Alex thought that it would ruin her socially if she created and worked in such an institution. It made little difference if she was ruined or not. She’d forgo any plans for marriage, as this charity would have her heart and devotion completely.

  Just as Alex and their mother had other priorities, so did Daphne. She’d thought about establishing such a charity for years, ever since she had worked at Claire’s charities and at Emma’s bank for women. It would be her contribution to help women forge a better life. No one should have to suffer a lifetime because of a mistake or because someone took advantage of her.

  Selfishly, if Daphne could help one unmarried woman escape the heartache of an unexpected pregnancy like her sister, Alice, had experienced, then whatever sacrifices Daphne had to make would be minuscule in comparison to the relief it would offer her.

  Suddenly, the wind wailed, shaking the entry windows. The atrium seemed to close around her, suffocating in its silence. Her heartbeat accelerated trying to outrun the invading quiet. She would not feel sorry for herself. Nor would she be scared in her own home. She needed a diversion, some exercise to take her mind off things.

  Her first order of business with her new independence was to make her way to Mr. Fincham’s office. If a carriage came for her, let the family wait until she was ready to leave. With a deep breath designed to fill her with courage, she wrote Tait a quick note of where she’d gone. She threw her heavy wool cloak over her gown and spencer, then retrieved her reticule that contained a few coins and her most precious possession—her journal.

  Chapter Three

  If rain had a fragrance, then snow was a sensual feast. The scent of spruce and a whiff of clean linen tinted the air. The surroundings seemed to sparkle in decoration for the season.

  When Daphne’s thoughts were clouded much like the gray sky overhead, she liked to walk. With determination fueling her every step, Daphne made quick work of the distance from Mr. Fincham’s office to her favorite small park in Mayfair. Unfortunately, the solicitor had closed his office for several hours, and instead of waiting, Daphne had chosen to walk back to Pembrooke House through the park.

  Even the eerily deserted streets didn’t give her pause as she continued on her way. Except for the occasional street vender crossing through Mayfair, she didn’t pass another soul. In her present mood, it suited her perfectly.

  With a swipe of her handkerchief, she cleaned her favorite granite bench, then sat, facing a small frosted fountain. The thin layer of ice gave the appearance that the fountain had been gilded in silver.

  She’d survived other tragedies and disappointments in her life, and she’d survive this utterly humiliating day.

  It would not defeat her.

  Daphne tilted her face at the sky. Several snowflakes gently floated through the air and danced upon her face. She’d enjoy this outing even if she was alone. Afterward, she’d go home and fix herself tea, then perhaps try her hand at baking tarts. She’d show her family and herself she could make it quite nicely on her own.

  She placed her ermine muff beside her, then pulled out a sharpened pencil and her journal from her reticule. Normally, she wrote with a quill and ink and kept the journal under lock and key in a secret trunk in her room. When she traveled, she’d place the precious volume in her reticule to keep it close. Writing in the small red leather journal outside in the open air brought a new type of freedom. The book held every secret thought, desire, and idea that she wanted to remember. Some were wicked and wanton and others biting and cruel. The majority of her writings were so personal she found it hard to read them. The ones after her sister’s death were especially painful. At the memories of her sister’s passing, everything stilled within Daphne as the claiming grief threatened to climb from its abyss and take control.

  Her entire family had been lost in their mourning over Alice. Her brother and mother had dealt with Alice’s death individually. Several times, she’d approached them but been gently rebuffed when she mentioned how
much she hurt. She couldn’t blame them. Their agony was as acute as her own was. The only difference? They couldn’t bring themselves to discuss it.

  When her father had died, Daphne, Alex, her young sister, Alice, and their mother had all grieved together. His passing wasn’t a forbidden secret like Alice’s death.

  But then her father hadn’t taken his own life either.

  Daphne pushed her sadness and disappointment aside. She took a deep breath of the cold air, then shivered before she set the pencil to the fine parchment. It was time she created other memories.

  “My lady?” Deep and smooth like a rare and perfectly aged wine, his voice embraced her from behind. She glanced over her shoulder, and his ice-blue gaze held hers as he pulled the glove from his hand slowly, one finger at a time, like an erotic overture to a kiss. “Are you alone?”

  All she could manage was a nod.

  With his bare hand, he cupped her cheek and brought her close enough that his frosted breath kissed her lips. The warmth from his fingers flooded her body in a silken heat. Her earlier chill fled as if exorcised.

  “Come home with me,” he begged with a wicked grin that promised every sort of sensual pleasure. His lips trailed across the sensitive skin below her ear. He playfully nipped the tender lobe. “I want to hear you scream my name as you climax. Then I’ll enter you slowly”—the deep cadence dropped to a whisper—“ever so slowly.”

  His gaze held hers captive, and she moaned.

  “I want to hear my name on your lips. Say it,” he commanded. “Say my name.”

  His thumb traced the outline of her lips. She took it into the warm cavern of her mouth and sucked. He groaned a heady sound. Her tongue pressed against the sensitive tip. He drew a deep breath, but his eyes flashed a dark blue reminiscent of lightning over a crystal-clear lake.

  She’d turned the tables on him.

  “Say it.” His demand transformed into a prayer. “Please, my lady?”