Designs on a Duke: The Bluestocking Scandals Book 1

by St. Clair, Ellie

  “Valentine, you wanted her gone as much as I did if I remember correctly.”

  Val pushed his plate away, no longer hungry.

  “I’m tired, Mother, and I am finished with this conversation and with this dinner.”

  “You really shouldn’t go to that boxing club of yours,” she said. “I thought you were done with that life, now that you are a duke.”

  “It’s not the life that I needed to leave, Mother,” he said. “What you will never understand is that I love the sport, that I need to be moving, or else I feel like I will wither away to nothing. I am fortunate that I can still be part of it, even in my new position of duke, don’t you understand that? And never fear, it is perfectly respectable to take part at Jackson’s, no matter who I am.”

  She sniffed.

  “Very well. As long as you keep up appearances.”

  “You know what, Mother?” he said, his patience having reached its limit. “I could care less about appearances.”

  “Valentine!”

  “Did you care so much when you were a physician’s wife? You were respectable then. I was the only blight upon the family name. Now I am the one who holds the family name, and I can bloody well do what I please with it.”

  “My word! I—”

  He stood now, pushing his chair back and throwing down his serviette. “If you say a word to anyone about Rebecca and her father, then I will see to it that all of these things you have become so enamored with will no longer be available to you. Your extravagant gowns, your new carriage, the jewels you have purchased to wear around your throat — I will sell all of it to pay these debts.”

  “Sit down, Valentine, this instant. You are acting like—“

  “Like what? A boor? A commoner? Well, that is what I am.”

  “You are the Duke of Wyndham,” she said, standing, her fury barely contained. “It is time you act like it. You have been such a—”

  “A disappointment? Well, guess what? I’m used to it. And I do not care any longer. Be disappointed in me all you like, Mother. For you know what? I am disappointed in myself as well. Disappointed that I have tried to live up to a man who would never have approved of me. That I continue to try to do what he would have wanted of me, despite the fact that he is no longer even here. That I have allowed my mother to make me feel as though I am not worthy when all I have ever done is to try to provide for myself and this family by doing what makes me happy. That I have cared enough about what others may think to send this family into further debt. It ends today. No more new things until our debts are paid. No renovations to Stonehall. Wyndham House will be finished, but as frugally as possible. I will never fix what happened to Matthew and will regret it for the rest of my life, but I cannot become him.”

  He began to stride from the room, unable to look back at his mother’s stricken face.

  “And no marriage to Lady Fredericka Ashworth!”

  * * *

  “That was quite the spectacle,” offered a feminine voice from the doorway of his study.

  “Thank you for providing me your support,” Valentine responded sarcastically.

  He sent his foot back to the floor, sending the front two legs of his caned klismos desk chair down against the hardwood with a crash as he regarded his sister over fingers steepled in front of him.

  “I didn’t feel the need to interfere,” Jemima said with a slight smile as she entered the room and took a seat in the cushioned open armchair in front of his desk. “You were doing just fine on your own. Good for you, Valentine, for finally standing up to Mother. It was about time.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  She shrugged. “Mother ignores me. Which I am more than happy with. But she has asked too much of you. So did Father. You need to stop holding yourself responsible for Matthew’s death. He would never have wanted you to suffer so, to try to be someone you are not. You are not Matthew, and you never will be.” She leveled him with her gaze. “But you are an idiot.”

  “I am already aware of that, Jemima. I do not need your reminder, but thank you anyway.”

  “That is not what I mean, and you well know it,” his sister answered. “When it comes to Rebecca, you are being a stubborn bull. She never meant to deceive you. You should know better than that.”

  He hated being chastised like a child.

  “She doesn’t care for me, Jemima. She never did. She was simply using me, and it hardly matters.”

  “You are wrong,” she said softly, tilting her head toward him. “She cares for you very much.”

  “She is telling you what you want to hear,” he countered. “She is deceptive.”

  “She was only trying to protect her father,” Jemima said, leaning forward now, her posture no longer laid back. “Wouldn’t you do the same? As it is, you have been trying to please our parents for years now, and Father is not even alive. She was trying to keep her own father’s legacy intact while using the talent she has been given. It hasn’t been easy for her.”

  “She still shouldn’t have used me to try to advance herself.”

  “Rebecca was just trying to survive, Valentine. Just as you are.”

  He sat back in his chair once more as Jemima’s words began to resonate. Was she right? Could she be right? Did Rebecca actually feel something for him, or was he a placeholder, as he seemed to be for everyone else?

  “It is unfortunate that her creativity is wasted,” he said, looking at the plans set before him on his desk. She had done it all rather brilliantly, but he knew that no one would ever agree to a young woman, trained only by experience, designing for them.

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Jemima said. “You could allow her to finish her work here. And there is something else she could use your help with — something that would free some of the burdens she has been carrying.”

  Valentine eyed her suspiciously. He had a feeling this had been Jemima’s angle since she had walked into the room.

  “Go on.”

  “Did she tell you about the houses her father built upon speculation — an entire neighborhood full of them?”

  “The Atticus Project? She did. I went to see them for myself. They are ingenious, though not overly practical, and built too far from the West End for most to be interested in them. They are also unfinished.”

  “They haven’t sold, and Mr. Lambert ran out of money to complete them.”

  “So I am told. I thought Mr. Lambert — though I suppose it was all Rebecca — had an idea to sell tickets for them as some kind of lottery.”

  “That is Rebecca’s plan, yes, but she requires Crown approval and thus far, her request has been deemed unimportant. She may never receive an answer.”

  “You want me to intercede on her behalf, don’t you?” He shook his head. He should have learned by now to never underestimate his sister.

  “You are a duke, Valentine. You are as close to the Crown as anyone can get. Can you at least write some sort of correspondence?”

  He tapped his pen on the desk.

  “That, I suppose I can do.”

  He was still unsure about Rebecca’s motivations and her thoughts regarding him, but he was certain of a few other things.

  First, she deserved to have her work seen. Secondly, her father was — or had been — a brilliant architect at one point in time and that legacy should remain unscathed.

  And third?

  He loved her, whether he liked it or not.

  26

  “Post for Mr. Lambert. Oh, and a letter for you as well, Miss Lambert.”

  Rebecca stood and took the correspondence from the butler, who was aware that while her father’s name was on the house and most of the post, she was the one who looked after everything now.

  Her heart quickened when she saw the seal on the back of the envelope, and she sat down at her desk with trembling fingers.

  Mr. Lambert,

  I am pleased to inform you that your request to sell tickets to a lottery for the homes of the Atticus Projec
t has been approved.

  There was a great deal of fine print below regarding when and where the lottery was expected to take place, but Rebecca disregarded it for a moment as she stood and lifted her hands in the air in victory as she spun in a circle. Finally, finally, something had gone right. She sat down once more, pressing the paper against her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut.

  Thank you, God.

  It took a while for her to remember the second envelope, and she opened it quickly, seeing it was from Wyndham House. Was it Valentine’s mother demanding the payment he had sent be returned?

  No, it was in Jemima’s script.

  Rebecca,

  Valentine would never admit this, but it was he who went to the Crown to see to your request. He is a stubborn man, but I know he deeply cares for you. I hope to see you soon,

  Jemima

  Valentine had spoken to the Crown for her? Duke or not, one could ask only so many favors, and he had used one of them on her. She took a breath. What did that mean? Did he care for her, as Jemima said? Was he willing to forgive her deception?

  She had to be sure that after all he had done, this crazy scheme of hers worked. She had a plan in place, which she was eager to begin, but first, she had something else to finish. Something much more important.

  Rebecca had no idea if, following Jemima’s visit, Valentine had ever hired another architect. Valentine had sent payment for the work they had done, but every time she looked at the banknote sitting on her desk, her stomach became empty and hollow with guilt.

  If he had decided to follow their plans, though, there was one room that was not yet completed. Until now.

  It had required quite a few meetings with Archie following her disgraceful exit. There was a third room on the other side of the manor, across from the ballroom and closer to the drawing room. In the original drawings, it seemed to be a gallery of sorts, but Rebecca had another use for it.

  She sat back and looked upon it with a smile. One more meeting and it would be complete.

  She only hoped Valentine would realize what it was — a declaration of her love.

  * * *

  “Valentine, I am so glad you are home.”

  “Yes, Mother?”

  He was spending more and more time at Jackson’s, the only place he seemed to fit in between the world he came from and where he had found himself. Soon he would have to assume his seat in the House of Lords, but he was waiting as long as he could before doing so. It did not seem an overly enjoyable way to spend one’s time.

  “Mr. Burton is doing something in the gallery room and I am not allowed entrance. In my own home, Valentine! You must go speak to him.”

  Valentine frowned. “I am sure he has a good reason, Mother.”

  It wasn’t that he overly cared about the sculpture gallery. It was more so that he didn’t have many additional funds set aside to fund another room’s renovation. As it was, the existing work on Wyndham House was all he could pay for before diving deeper into debt.

  Valentine went looking for his master builder in the east wing of the manor.

  “Mr. Burton?”

  He was met with silence until he finally pushed open the door.

  The room seemed bigger than it had before, but perhaps it was due to what filled it. Ropes were strung from stakes that had been built into the floor, sectioning off the perfect-sized boxing ring. Next to it were bags suspended from the ceiling, with a curtain at the back of the room likely for dressing. Chairs lined one wall, underneath paintings of pugilists as well as landscapes that looked suspiciously like Hungerford.

  There was a plaque adorning one wall, right in the center, which Val neared in order to read the inscription.

  Home of Valentine St. Vincent

  Champion Pugilist

  Duke of Wyndham

  “What in the…?”

  He heard a creak in the floorboards behind him and turned around, expecting to see Mr. Burton.

  “Rebecca.”

  She stood in the doorway, a beautiful angel in a muslin cream dress. Her long dark hair was pulled back away from her face, leaving her hazel eyes shining upon him. Her red lips drew him in, but she was worrying them with her teeth, likely concerned about what his reaction might be upon seeing her here.

  She needn’t have worried.

  “This… this room,” he said turning around and holding out his hand toward it. “You did this?”

  She took a tentative step toward him.

  “I did,” she said, nodding her head. “You needn’t worry about the expense. It is a gift — I will look after it. Father and I have been fortunate, as our lottery plan is going forward. We received Crown approval for the project.” She tilted her head. “How do you think that came to be?”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “This from the man who would like trust and honesty?”

  He grinned sheepishly, unable to hold back his joy upon seeing her, despite all of the upheaval that existed between them.

  “Very well,” he said. “I may have had something to do with it. But it was nothing, honestly.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said softly, taking another step, one that he found himself matching. “It is much more than nothing. It is everything to my father, and therefore everything to me.”

  “He deserves for his legacy to remain,” Valentine said gruffly. “And you deserve for your work to be seen — just as you deserve to be happy.”

  “I want the same for you,” she said with a sad smile.

  “There is a problem with that,” he said, taking her hands in his as he finally reached her. “I cannot be happy without one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You.”

  Her eyes flew up to meet his, tears swimming within their depths.

  “I miss you so much, Valentine, truly I do, but I cannot be with you any more without the promise for something more between us. I so appreciate all that you have done for me, and I did this because I wanted you to know just how much I lo— care for you.”

  His heart began to warm within his chest before the heat radiated out through his limbs.

  “What was that you were going to say?”

  “That I care for you.”

  He raised an eyebrow, silently urging her to tell the truth.

  “Fine,” she grumbled, looking down, refusing to meet his eyes. “I love you. I love you, Valentine St. Vincent, but it doesn't matter. It can’t. I’m not the woman that you need.”

  He brought her hands to his lips, kissing each knuckle in turn.

  “You’re the one that I want, though. I love you, too, Rebecca.”

  Her smile was tremulous as she looked at him, her eyes watery once more.

  “Marry me, Rebecca.”

  “What?” her lips parted as she gasped.

  “Marry me. If I have to be a duke, then I choose you to be my duchess.”

  “I am not titled. I will not help you gain any recognition. I do not have a dowry, though I, at least, no longer have any debt.”

  “I’ll give you a title. I’ll pay off my debt. And the only recognition I want is from you.”

  She swatted him, shaking her head. “Don’t tease me, Valentine. You have been telling me that is what you need since I met you. Nothing else is so important to you as that.”

  “It was important to my mother, and apparently would have been to my father. Ever since Matthew died, all I have done is tried to be the man that he would have been. It’s you — and some reminders from others who know me well — who has finally made me realize that I cannot return to the past and change what happened to Matthew, and punishing myself for his loss will accomplish nothing. I can still be myself and make them proud. And being myself means being with you.”

  “Truly?” she asked, her hands gripping his, and he nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “What about… the fact that I was less than honest with you? I am sor
ry, Valentine, truly I am. I never knew I would fall in love with you, and I didn’t mean to deceive you in such a way. My intention was to help my father, but his mind was failing more and more quickly, and the next thing I knew I was doing all of the design, but I didn't want to tell you as I was afraid that you would think less of me. Once I knew that you wouldn’t, I was worried you would be angry with me for lying to you, which you were, so I—”

  He placed a finger on her lips to stop her flow of words.

  “I know,” he said, letting his hand fall back down to grasp hers once more. “I was angry, I will admit that. I have become rather paranoid in this new life of mine. Too many people have been proven to be taking advantage of me. It’s why I only hire those who knew me before I became duke. You were the first person I took a chance on, and when I thought you had deceived me, well… my anger got the best of me. It usually does.”

  “I am truly sorry,” she said, her expression so remorseful that he could do nothing but release a low chuckle.

  “I know, Rebecca,” he said, lifting her chin with his finger. He didn’t want her to feel such shame again. He had suffered from it enough throughout his life that he didn’t wish it upon the woman he loved. “And I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “I do,” he nodded.

  “But what about your own debts? The dowry that you sorely need? I may be able to come up with enough, depending on how well this lottery goes, but I’m not sure it will ever equal that of a titled lady’s.”

  He shrugged. “Well, first, we just may have to wait on some of those wonderful suggestions for Stonehall. I am not saying that we never do them but we—”

  “Be prudent and wait,” she said, nodding with a smile. “I agree. And while Wyndham House does need to be finished, I have already planned it as inexpensively as possible, if you look—”

  “I know, Rebecca,” he said with a small smile. “I noticed. And I appreciate it. I appreciate you, and the care you took for what I needed. But besides that, I believe I have found a man of business who will care much more than the old duke’s ever did. And stewards that are honest, who will manage the tenants with a firm yet understanding hand.”