As far as the aristocracy was concerned, she was just a common laborer now.
Alone.
She suspected she’d stay that way, and yet, as she moved to the back room in her shop, her thoughts strayed once again to the duke with the ice blue eyes.
Chapter Three
Philip strolled into his breakfast room the next morning and stared out the window. He loved Hearthstone Manor, his main estate, at this time of year. The spring flowers blossomed in beds accented by beautifully maintained grass. The sight was almost enough to make him hope again. He chided himself for being foolish and sentimental, but from the gardens to the lake to the estate itself, Hearthstone Manor was truly the most glorious place he’d ever seen. It had been his privilege and joy to grow up there—fishing, racing horses, and having shooting contests with his brothers and his father. He had hoped to do the same with his own sons someday, but it seemed life was not going to accommodate him.
He sighed and grabbed a plate. Ambling to the sideboard, he helped himself to coddled eggs, ham, and toast, and nodded briefly at the servants. The sight of the newspaper in front of his usual seat caused him to sigh again. Picking it up after he sat, he promised himself he would ignore the gossip page. He expected to find his name linked with Sara Downey’s, and he did not need to be reminded about how he’d defended her. His mother flurried in, swishing her skirts as she traversed the breakfast room.
“Good morning, Philip. Are you having a better day today?”
“Better than what, Mother?”
“Why, better than your usual days, of course. You should be having a better day today,” she replied.
“And why is that, Mother?” He set the paper down. He was not anxious to hear her answer, but he knew his mother would have her say eventually, so he might as well get it over with as quickly as possible.
“Well, I believe you should be happy after meeting that beautiful young lady yesterday, Sara Downey.” She took a seat as the servants bustled around, bringing both of them tea and seeing to the duchess’s needs.
“And please tell me why meeting Lady Downey should make me happy?” he ground out.
“Why, chemistry, of course! Anyone within fifty feet of the two of you could feel the chemistry between you.” She smiled over the rim of her teacup.
“Chemistry! Are you out of your mind?” His hands curled into fists on the tablecloth, but then he forced himself to pick up the paper again.
“Why, Philip, I do disagree with you. We all witnessed the sparks flying between the two of you. They were as strong from her as they were from you.” She gave one vehement nod of her head to emphasize her point.
“Mother, I am beginning to really worry about you. How could you mistake my reaction to her for anything other than rage?” He dropped the newspaper in frustration. “That woman you are so taken with is Baron Downey’s wife.”
His mother just smirked. “There is a fine line between love and hate. Are you just learning that?”
“I think I know all I care to know about love. I have my lovely ex-wife to thank for that instruction. I will never fool myself into thinking I’m in love again, Mother. I told you, give up on me.”
She clucked her tongue. “Caroline did do a nice job of wrapping you around her finger. You were young and clearly in lust when you married her, but you weren’t in love. There is a difference.”
Philip spewed his tea halfway across the table. “Mother! Could you speak a bit more appropriately? What if Emma were to walk in and hear you?” The servants rushed over to clean up after him.
“Oh, pah. And your sister would agree with me. It is time someone spoke the truth to you to get you out of your snip. It happened a long time ago, young man. You’ve had plenty of time to heal. Get over it and start living your life again.”
Philip stared at his mother, speechless. Heal? How was he supposed to heal from the humiliation of his wife leaving him for another man? Thanks to Caroline, half of England knew of his embarrassment. He could see the spiteful glances from his peers, even in the House of Lords. Why, even the gentry eyed him with pity.
The most embarrassing part of all was that he’d loved Caroline. Desperately.
Hadn’t he? Or was it possible his mother was correct in her assessment? Had it been lust and not love?
“Oh, Philip, speaking of your sister, I plan on taking her to the new dressmaker this week, and I would like you to go with us. What day is good for you?” She donned her sweetest smile.
His mother’s request startled him back to the present. “To the dressmaker? Since when do you need me to go shopping with you? I have to meet with my steward this week. I am scheduled to visit many of my tenants as well.”
Philip shook his head in exasperation. What had gotten into his mother?
“Emma is fourteen years old. In case you have not noticed, she is blossoming into a beautiful young lady. And I do not like the leering glances she is getting from the men in town. I think it would be beneficial if you would go with us. Your presence would remind those men that she is off limits. Your brothers run like wildfire wherever they wish, but you have a duty to your sister as the head of the family. Are you too busy to be a good brother?”
She gave him that stare she was so good at, the “dare to disagree with me” look. He’d learned long ago not to challenge her at such times.
“Of course not, Mother,” he said, sufficiently chastened. “I will be glad to accompany you and Emma this week. Monday would be fine.”
Why had his life taken such an unusual turn this week?
Chapter Four
Sara straightened up her living area. It was small, but it was hers in a way her husband’s townhouse never had been. She had designed the curtains and upholstered a small couch to match. A table and chairs sat alongside her bed. It had been her idea to fashion the attic of the dress shop into a living space. Society frowned on matrons living alone, but her father had raised her to be her own person and to make her own decisions. If her shop continued to be successful, she would be able to afford a safer place soon enough. In deference to public opinion, she stepped out of the shop’s front door every night, locked it, and turned the corner before slipping inside her back door, attempting to create the illusion of going to the boardinghouse.
She shuffled down the stairs carefully since it was such a steep staircase. The base of the staircase opened into the back room of the shop, where she kept bolts of beautiful fabrics. She’d purchased only the best—an expensive investment, to be sure—but skimping on fabric was not the way to run a business that served the ladies of the ton. As she passed through her back room, she ran her hand across the large flat table she used for cutting and developing her patterns. Every item in her shop had been purchased with love.
The next room was her favorite. She stole a moment to stand on the viewing platform that sat in the middle for her customers. The looking glasses were arranged just so to allow her clients to see both the front and back of their gowns. The walls were lined with a few readymade gowns for those who could not wait for custom-made creations. The dresses hung on T-shaped wood brackets her father had designed for her. She had labored furiously to build her inventory of dresses, but she was only one person, and sewing one gown took so much time and effort, especially the beadwork. The room was completed by her desk, tucked in one corner, and a changing screen in another.
She straightened everything and dusted as she moved through the space, humming as she thought of the week ahead. Her bridal gown design had been well-received, which should garner her some new clients. As she neared the front room, the bell above the door tinkled. Her heart leapt into her throat when she entered the space and saw the disheveled, dirty man who’d just stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and locked it.
Trying not to show her fear, she said, “I am sorry, sir, but I am not open for business yet. If you return in an hour, I would be happy…” The menacing look in his eyes cut her offer short.
She stepped
back, planning to run for the back staircase, but he grabbed her arm and twisted it viciously.
Tugging her closer, he sneered, “No, I will not be returning. We will finish our business now.”
Attempting to push away from him, she groaned as his powerful grip detained her. The man reeked of unwashed sweat and whisky, his teeth were black stubs, and his gaze was flat and cruel. Her stomach churned with anxiety, but what was she to do? He was more powerful, and she could not escape him. She hated how easy it was for a man to control a woman.
Hoping to reason with the brute, she stated, “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know you. Please release me this instant.” She did her best to hide the fear that gripped her body.
He leaned in, twisting her arm painfully. “My boss has a message for you. He needs the money by next week, or else.”
Sara started. “Money? What are you talking about?” She twisted again, trying to break free of his grasp, but the man only squeezed tighter.
“Maybe you don’t, but your husband did.”
Her fear increased exponentially. “My husband left me. I have not seen him in almost eleven months, and I don’t ever wish to see him again. Why would he owe you money?”
“Your husband liked to gamble money he didn’t have. He owes my boss a fortune.” He looked around and whistled through his damaged teeth. “I see a lot of money hanging on the wall here, and you have some pretty fancy clients. I suggest you sew until your fingers bleed. You have one week from today.”
“But how much does he owe?”
“I’ll tell you next week,” he said with a chuckle.
He pushed her away, but before she could feel a moment’s relief, he grabbed her left wrist in one hand and her pinky finger with the other, thrusting her finger backward. She screamed from the pain before falling to the floor as he released her.
“If I don’t get my money next week, I will break it.” The foul man leaned over her as he spoke. “I’ll start with the little one, but I’ll break another finger every time you are late with a payment. From there, I’ll go to your arms and proceed to your legs until you are unable to work or even move anymore. I may break every bone in your body before I am done. Do you understand?”
Sara whimpered, gasping in pain as she cradled her finger. Peering up at him, she nodded.
“And do not think of going to the authorities, or I will have my way with you until you won’t be able to walk.” He said this with a foul grin, as if he wished her to test him. “I don’t care where you hide. I will find you. Am I making myself clear, Lady Downey?”
Sara nodded again, tears streaming down her face. He unlocked the door before turning back to her. “You have one week.” He turned and left, as casual as if he had not attacked her in broad daylight in her own shop.
Sara stood carefully and tried to slow her breathing. She moved her finger, saying a quick prayer of thanks when it bent freely, although the pain in both her arm and her finger was nearly more than she could bear. Now that he was gone, she wished she’d done something—anything—although she doubted anything would have stopped the foul man.
What was she going to do? He’d hurt her so badly it would be a struggle to work today, but she couldn’t afford to send for a physician. The man had never told her how much Duncan owed.
Panic claimed her mind and her body as the stark reality of the situation set in. She had no one to go to. No one to help her. And the shop that had seemed like her salvation was no longer a safe place.
How could her new life have been turned upside down so quickly?
***
Philip held out his hand to help his sister down from the carriage. His mother already stood beside him.
“Oh, Philip, I do hope you will help me pick out some of my gowns,” Emma prattled on excitedly. “You know everything about the ton. You will know exactly what sorts of styles I should be wearing. Someday, I hope you’ll help me find a handsome husband, too. He’ll be part of our family, after all, so I should think you’d like to help me pick him. You’ll get along with him well, will you not?”
He merely smiled in response.
When Philip glanced at his sister, he still saw the dear little girl who used to hold his hand. Sit on his lap. Where had the years gone? And now she was talking of marriage? True, it was still years off, but he could not imagine her as a woman grown. She was only fourteen, twelve years his junior, and sometimes she still babbled like a young girl. Emma was such an innocent.
He had hoped to drop his mother and sister at the modiste and run, but his sister had made it clear she expected him to join them inside. His mother gave him a beseeching look, but she needn’t have—he couldn’t deny Emma. Not when he’d neglected her so during his short marriage to Caroline. With the benefit of hindsight, he realized he’d allowed her to take him away from his family, from Emma. He had much to atone for.
Philip smiled as he pushed open the door to the shop, holding it for his mother and sister.
A little bell tinkled as they stepped inside. He glanced at the items in the glass case in front, thinking he should probably purchase a small bauble for Miranda. The little incident in front of the church had likely upset her, but her affection was easily won with gifts, the more expensive the better. He heard a familiar voice—“welcome”—and turned around slowly.
Lady Sara Downey stood before him.
Ah, now he understood his mother’s motivation. She had a reason for everything she did, and the reason for today’s visit was now smiling at his sister. He nodded to his mother, accepting she had out-maneuvered him this time.
But his attention was quickly diverted back to Lady Downey. His mind stopped functioning when she curtsied to him. Her lips were lush, her teeth perfect—she had a beautiful smile, although something told him it was forced. Her hair was pulled back simply, but a few strands had escaped and caressed her cheeks, highlighting how pink and flushed they were. Why?
He assessed her again, head to toe, and liked everything he saw, other than the fact that something had clearly upset her. She met his gaze briefly, long enough for him to notice the gold flecks in her green eyes and her gloriously long lashes, then looked away.
His mother gave him an innocent smile. “Wait here just a minute for us, would you, Philip? We would like your opinion on some of Lady Downey’s colors and creations.”
Philip felt himself nod to his mother, still unable to speak. He caught himself staring at Sara again. Even though she’d been relegated to the working class, she possessed an air of nobility. He wondered if that was the real reason why Miranda had accosted her in front of the church the other day—Sara Downey had class in her bones, the kind Miranda coveted. When she turned to exit the room, Philip caught a quick look at the roundness of her bottom. He was instantly hard.
Bloody hell! No woman had been able to affect him so since Caroline’s departure. He turned back to the window in the hopes that Lady Downey hadn’t noticed his reaction. What was happening to him? He was usually so good at controlling his emotions and desires, but something about this woman affected him on a deep level. That made her dangerous. And yet, he found himself contemplating Sara’s forced smile, her flushed cheeks. Whereas she’d radiated self-confidence the other day, she seemed nervous today. Insecure. Something was wrong.
Despite himself, he wanted to know what had happened.
He watched as Sara led Emma about the shop. His sister had a bright, natural smile on her face as she piled gowns over her arms—one that brought Sara’s forced smile into harsh relief. Once Emma had a few gowns to try on, she disappeared into the back with the dressmaker.
In a few minutes, Emma called out to him excitedly—“Philip, come look!”—only for their mother to remind her she was to address him properly in public.
“Come quickly, Your Grace,” Emma said. “Tell me what you think.”
His sister stood on a platform in front of two mirrors, swishing the skirts of the pale pink gown she wore, radiating pure joy. “Isn
’t it beautiful? I love this! It is the prettiest shade of pink. I wonder if I can find slippers to match. And I need a bonnet, too. What do you think?” Emma turned to him.
“It is beautiful on you, princess. We will find whatever you need to go with it,” he said softly.
“Indeed. Quite becoming,” his mother agreed.
Philip darted a glance at Lady Downey. His earlier assessment had been correct—something was indeed wrong. Visible pain radiated from her eyes. Why? Did he remind her of her husband? What was wrong with her?
Then he noticed the way she guarded her arm. Unable to stop himself, he strode over to her and carefully grasped her wrist. She winced in pain just as he spotted the swelling of her smallest finger.
“Philip!” his mother exclaimed. “What has come over you? You are being improper. You have no right to grab Lady Downey’s hand.”
He knew she was right, and yet he couldn’t step away. Barely aware of what he was doing, he turned her arm over, gently tugging the sleeve of her gown up. A set of fresh bruises assailed his vision.
His mother gasped, but she recovered quickly, stepping onto the platform and ushering Emma back into the changing area.
Lady Downey glared at him, yanked her arm back, and pulled her sleeve down.
Blood pulsed through Philip’s body at an alarming rate. Someone had assaulted this beautiful, strong-willed woman. He fisted his hands by his side, filled with hot rage and the need to kill whoever had hurt her.
He stared into her eyes but couldn’t control the gruffness in his voice. “Who?”
Sara lowered her lashes. “I am sorry, Your Grace. What exactly is your question?”
“Who assaulted you? Who twisted your arm?” He waited a moment, glaring at her. “I demand an answer,” he whispered.
Reforming the Duke Page 2
