A Duke's Duty (The Duke's Club Book 2)

by G. L. Snodgrass

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Abigail took a deep breath as she tried to calm her racing heart while her fingers shook trying to tie the knot to her cape. It was the right thing to do, she reminded herself. Go home to her father. It was her only choice. Regardless if Jack could stop Lord Bristol spreading his tale. No, it was still the right choice. She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t watch him marry another woman.

  Never.

  “You will tell your father,” Aunt Maud said. “He must send us more funds. Rose must be allowed to shine.”

  Abigail bit back a sharp response. The woman refused to face reality. There were so little funds as it were and she wanted more.

  “I will tell him,” she answered as she looked in the hall mirror to adjust her hat. It would do no good. But she would pass on her aunt’s request.

  She was hesitating, she realized. Delaying the inevitable. She was going to miss London, the balls, the drama, Rose, perhaps even Aunt Maud. At least a little. Well, perhaps not Aunt Maud.

  Rose smiled weakly then pulled her into a quick hug. The look on Rose’s face expressed her confusion. Why would anyone choose to leave London? It made no sense. But then, the girl didn’t know what it felt like to love a man who didn’t love her back. Her Baron was besotted. Unfortunately, Abigail could not say the same for the Duke of Oxford.

  Abigail sighed heavily. There was no choice, she must leave. Giving her relatives one last glance, she opened the door and gingerly made her way down the steps. Just before allowing herself to be handed up into her father’s carriage, she pulled back and looked both ways, up and down the street.

  Somehow, she had secretly hoped that someone would stop her. By someone, she meant Jack. But he wasn’t there. Of course not. Biting back a tear, she allowed George, her father’s one and only footman to help her up into the carriage.

  It had been a week since the funeral. She had sent word almost immediately to her father, asking him to send the carriage for her. That she was coming home. A week later, and finally, she was on the road.

  Leaning back on the padded headrest, she closed her eyes. A sense of shame filled her. She was running away. From so many things. It was unlike her. But this was the only way she could survive. Yet, no sooner that one problem had been resolved. Her distance from Jack. Another would hang over her head. Every day, she would fret and worry that this would be the day when word reached her father of his one and only daughter trysting with a man. All alone, on a sailboat in the middle of the Thames.

  The look of disappointment in his eyes would tear her soul into small pieces.

  She would have to live with that fear every day. Her punishment for failing to follow society's rules. Then, to make it worse. If he discovered the truth. He would insist on Jack marrying her. Somehow, that would make things even worse. Trapping Jack into something he didn’t want. Something that would stop him from fulfilling his promise to his dying father.

  No. That must never be allowed. She would live a life in shame, alone, before she allowed that to happen.

  Taking a deep breath, she set her shoulders as she pulled the curtain back to watch London pass by. This might be her last time being in the city. She wished to capture every memory while she could.

  The smells of too many people, even more horses, the Thames. The sounds of a city. Hawker’s calling out their wares. The jingle of horse bridles and the crunch of carriage wheels over cobblestones. All of it was taken in and stowed in a memory that could be retrieved when needed.

  Once out of London, the trip became a long monotonous day. One field after another, the occasional small village.

  What was Jack doing? The rules of Mourning must be eating him alive. No social events. Nothing for the first month but sitting home. Perhaps visiting his aunts, joining them in their grief. It was hard to imagine. But again, it was one of those rules of society that could not be breached without significant fallout.

  Would this pain ever go away? she wondered. Would she ever get over Jack? The thought made her smile slightly. No, impossible. Not after what they had shared. One more delicious memory that could be recalled when needed.

  Several hours later, Abigail was still lost in the bliss of remembering their time together when the coach slowed to turn onto her father’s drive. After a long day on the road and her hip had stiffened to a useless state. She swallowed her anger at her infirmity and pushed open the carriage door before the footman could get in place.

  Both her parents had come to greet her. Her father with his wide smile and twinkling eyes. The man she had always admired and loved. He had worked so hard and was so determined to do what was right. No matter what. He had spent his life trying to make things better for his family and his tenants.

  It was her mother that concerned her the most. She had never been able to hide anything from her. And now, with that concerned look on her face, it was as if she were probing for the truth. First glancing at her cane. Abigail knew her mother was wondering if she had returned because of difficulties with her leg. Or worse, because she had been repeatedly snubbed and could no longer take the shame.

  When she saw that Abigail was able to get down from the carriage with some semblance of grace. At least for a crippled spinster, her mother relaxed slightly then fought to hide her frown as she pulled her daughter into an embrace.

  Abigail followed her parents into the home. Carville the family’s butler gave her a large smile. “Welcome home, Lady Abigail, you were dearly missed.”

  Abigail sighed as she gently touched his arm in thanks. The servants had always been so kind. In many ways, her only true friends.

  “Aunt Maud and Rose send their love,” she said to her parents.

  Her father scoffed and shook his head. “Let me guess, you have been tasked with pushing me to send more funds.”

  She gave her father her best smile. “They are both fine. Rose has landed herself an honorable Baron. She will do well.”

  Her mother shook her head. “If I know Maud, she is pushing for more money in hopes of something better.”

  Abigail smiled. She and her mother both saw the world the same way. Perhaps that was why it was so hard to keep anything from her.

  This was home, she realized with a pleasant acceptance. The place where they knew her inner thoughts and she knew theirs without having to ask. The place where a thousand memories could be recalled with a simple look.

  The one place in this world that could not turn her away. At least not unless they learned the truth about her and Jack. In which case …

  “Are you feeling well, my dear?” her mother asked as her face took on a look of concern.

  Abigail chastised herself. She must be more careful. In many ways, it was worse than London where the wrong word to the wrong person could lead to rumors and scandal. No, here it wouldn’t even take a wrong word.

  “I am fine,” she said, trying to give her mother a reassuring smile. “It was a long trip.”

  Her mother relaxed slightly, but her brow continued to be pinched as she studied her daughter.

  “You rest,” her father said as he put his arm around her shoulder. “We will talk at dinner. It will be nice to have something new to discuss. Heaven knows, not much ever happens around here.”

  Oh, my God, Abigail thought. Please keep it that way. If her father discovered the truth, there would be nothing except constant discussions about how she had failed the family.

  Please, she begged silently. Don’t let it come to that.

  .o0o.

  Jack swallowed an angry curse. Instead, he took a calming breath. He had learned early that yelling at his men never achieved better results. If it took yelling to motivate them, then he had the wrong men.

  “What do you mean she has left?” he asked Thompson. “Exactly.”

  Thompson didn’t flinch from the anger in his employer’s voice. He too had learned long ago.

  “According to the maid, Miss Abigail left two days ago in her father’s carriage to return
to the family’s estate.”

  “Damn,” Jack mumbled under his breath. She had done it. Left without giving him an opportunity to fix things. What was even worse. She’d left without saying goodbye. Of course, there was little opportunity. These blasted mourning rules had shut down his life worse than a thick fog and no wind.

  “And, are you sure Lord Bristol will be at White’s this evening.”

  Thompson nodded. “Got it from Mrs. Jensen herself. She says the man’s valet told their butcher that Lord Bristol spends every Thursday at his club. And according to Mrs. Jensen, the only gentleman’s club for a man like Lord Bristol is White’s.”

  Jack let out a long breath as he folded his hands behind his back and began to pace. He had been held up in this house for ten days. It was time he finished this before it became worse. Bristol mustn’t be allowed to spread stories. Perhaps, once Abigail accepted that no stories about their … time together had started. Perhaps then she would return to London.

  His brow furrowed as he tried to understand why it bothered him so much. The woman had every right to live where she wished. Yet, deep inside, a feeling of wrongness filled him. Abigail needed to be close. He missed talking with her. Bouncing off ideas. Hell, if he were honest with himself. He missed her body. The memory of those delicious curves filled his mind and refused to leave.

  “I will need you to carry word to both Bedford and Suffolk.”

  Thompson's brow scrunched up in confusion. “You can’t be going to a gentleman’s club, Capt’n. Not only a few days after burying your father. The aunts won’t be pleased.”

  Jack scoffed. “I don’t answer to my aunts. After all, you will remember that I didn’t always listen to His Majesty’s Admiralty.”

  Thompson shook his head. “I don’t know Capt’n. The admiralty might be more forgiving. Those three could make a man wish he were in a French jail. Life might be easier.”

  Jack smiled for the first time in days. His man wasn’t far wrong. But no, nothing could allow this task to be delayed. The sooner it was complete, the sooner he could convince Abigail to return to London.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jack jumped from the carriage before it came to a rolling stop. Thompson frowned down from the coach’s box.

  “Stay with the carriage,” he told the man. Thompson walking into White’s would disrupt the entire British Empire. The sun itself might very well not come up in the morning.

  “We’ll be just around the corner, Capt’n. You send one of them fancy-dressed lubbers.”

  Jack nodded and hurried up the steps. His heart jumped as he smiled to himself. God, how he was looking forward to putting the fear of hell into good old Barty. Perhaps, if he was very lucky, the man might actually challenge him to a duel. Oh, how sweet that would be. A great many of his problems would be resolved by dawn.

  His promise to Abigail not to kill the man felt as restricting as being wrapped in a wet sail. But his word was his bond. Especially to Abigail. The thought of her disapproving of him bothered him to his very core. No, he would do this without breaking his word.

  “Welcome, Your Grace,” the footman said as he bowed while opening the door. Jack laughed internally. Two months ago, he never would have been granted admission to such a place. Only the titled and very wealthy passed through these doors.

  It was not surprising this man knew of him. The crest on his coach told the world who he was. But London servants had their own network. This man had probably known he was on his way before he left home.

  The rooms reminded him of the cabin on Nelson’s flagship, Victory. Refined, ornate, with a hint of hidden superiority. The kind of room that didn’t need to advertise its importance. If you were there. You knew it already. Princes, Prime Ministers, and Magnates met in these rooms. Half of Britain’s future was mapped out and agreed upon here.

  Jack could only take a calming breath. He had once again entered a strange new world with its own set of rules. He wondered if he’d ever learn everything expected of him.

  “And you are?” he asked the footman.

  “Tolliver, Your Grace.”

  Jack nodded. “Are the Dukes, Bedford and Suffolk here?” Jack asked as he handed the man his gloves and hat.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” the man said as he passed along the garments to another footman. “They are waiting for you in the library, I believe.”

  Jack raised an eyebrow. He would have expected them in the bar. Especially Suffolk. Perhaps they wanted to talk to him alone. Sighing, Jack was tempted to ask the footman if Lord Bristol was there also, but decided that it would be best if he gave no warning. It must appear as happenstance.

  Thankfully, the library was empty except for his two friends. It was early yet. Most of the members were probably in either the bar or eating their evening meal before retiring to the card room.

  The Duke of Suffolk held up three fingers to a footman across the room. The man quickly poured them each a whiskey and delivered it on a silver tray.

  “Is this really necessary?” Bedford asked after taking a long sip. “Ann was rather irate at the idea of me not being at home this evening.”

  Suffolk laughed. “A woman soon to have a child wants to know where her man is at all times. Just in case. One of the many reasons not to marry. The apron strings can be rather bothersome.”

  Bedford frowned, obviously not liking the idea of being on his wife’s tether. Yet, the man would move heaven and earth to make her happy, so he didn’t have much of an argument.

  “Yes, it is important,” Jack told them. “I plan to push Barty into a corner. A corner he can not escape.”

  Both of his friends frowned at him. Neither asked why Jack realized. They accepted that he was justified. Suffolk nodded, obviously associating tonight with their discussion a few days earlier.

  “And you need us why?” Bedford asked.

  “He needs an audience,” the Duke of Suffolk said. “Or at least the threat of one.”

  Jack nodded. “I simply need him to see that you are in attendance. He will know I have your support.”

  Bedford scoffed. “Since when did you need our support with good old Barty Bristol. The man is a toad.”

  Jack took a deep breath. “I need him to know that if he puts one foot out of line. I will demonstrate his cowardice. Either that, or kill him if he is foolish enough to challenge me. I want him to see you there and fear that I will expose him.”

  Bedford winced. “Death, or embarrassment. Most men would choose death.”

  “Not Barty,” Suffolk said as he took another drink. “We wouldn’t be so lucky.”

  Throwing back the last of his whiskey, Jack sighed heavily then turned to leave. Both of his friends fell in behind him, but far enough back so that he could approach Lord Bristol alone.

  It took a moment to find him in the bar, in the far corner, holding court with two Northern Barons. Jack scrunched his nose as he felt that familiar feeling of disdain mixed with dismissal. A toad. Bedford had been right. And when he thought about what this man had done to Abigail all those years ago. It was enough to want to strangle him slowly.

  Bristol looked up, catching his approach. His face turned two shades paler as he swallowed hard. Jack wondered what upset the man more. The fact that Jack had been admitted to his club. Or that he could see the anger in Jack’s eyes.

  The two other Lords looked at Jack, then back to Lord Bristol and finally back to the approaching Duke. Neither man was unintelligent. They both quickly made their excuses and left Lord Bristol alone.

  “Barty,” Jack said with as haughty tone as he could muster.

  “Oxford,” Lord Bristol responded, with an equally haughty tone that dripped disapproval.

  Jack held the man’s stare for a long moment then turned and leaned both elbows on the bar. “Did you ever kill a man?” he asked Bristol.

  What little color remained in the man’s face drained away.

  “Really Oxford,” he said. “Such things are not discusse
d here in White’s. It is unbecoming. Even someone like you should know that.”

  Jack simply nodded to the bartender for a whiskey. “I was wondering,” he said without looking at the man. “If you knew what it was like to stick a sword into a man’s belly. Do you agree with me that it always seems to go in easier than pulling it out? Why is that? And that sick, slopping sound as the blade is retrieved. Again, different than going in.”

  Lord Bristol could only stare at him, his mouth open, unable to believe what was going on.

  “It is the look in their eyes,” Jack continued. “That realization that they are going to die. Right then. That they will never father a child. Never again watch a sunset or feel the soft kiss of a sweet maid. That they will know only black torment, or worse, nothing at all. Knowing that the world will go on without them.”

  The Lord put a hand out to hold the bar.

  “Of course,” Jack said as he turned to look the man directly in the eye. “Killing a man with a pistol is so much easier. A good shot, directly between a man’s eyes. The light goes out and he slumps to the ground. Dead. To never rise again.”

  Lord Bristol swiped his tongue across his lips as he looked around. “Um … Um, why are we discussing this,” he asked.

  “There is always the other option,” Jack said, ignoring the man’s question. “Being a coward. Although. They do say, a coward dies a thousand deaths. A hero but one. Do you think that is correct?”

  The man stammered as he looked around the room. Jack could see it in the man’s eyes. Fear. “I don’t know what you have been told, but it is untrue,” Lord Bristol stammered.

  Jack laughed. Such an asinine statement. He simply continued to stare at the man, raising the awkwardness. Putting a hot fire iron to the tension.

  “Perhaps you don’t understand,” Lord Bristol added as he fought to regain control. “His Majesty has forbidden dueling.”