A duke a dozen, p.23
A Duke a Dozen, page 23
“I do love him, Meg. I do. And that’s why he has to go his own way, and I have to go mine. I can’t ask him to stay in Berkshire. I can’t ask him to forgo his duty to his tenants and his title by staying with me. I can’t ask him to bring scandal on his family by continuing to associate with a known fallen woman. He can’t marry me, and the one thing a duke must do is produce an heir. I can’t give him that, or at least, it’s unlikely that I will. It’s better that we part now.”
Meg looked down, pain etched on her features.
“And if you want to leave my service, I understand. You were hired to manage a town house in London, not whatever I might find here. And I sense that your loyalties may have shifted.”
Meg gave her a startled look. “I will always be loyal to you, my lady!”
“I know that well, but far be it for me to stand in the way of your happiness.”
Meg looked down, and when she looked up again, her brown eyes were set and her chin was high. “My place is with you, my lady.”
“Meg—”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” She released Annabel’s hand. “And if we are to stay in Berkshire then I should begin preparing to move somewhere more permanent. I will speak with the innkeeper’s wife and see if she knows of a cottage we might let. And I’ll write to Town and have Crotchett send Cook and several maids. Please tell me we don’t need Crotchett himself. Let’s leave him in London to make the populace miserable.”
Despite the tears that still threatened to spill over, Annabel laughed. “Poor Crotchett. We’ll discuss how to arrange everything later.”
“Then I’ll leave you to rest, my lady. It’s been a trying morning, and you look as though your head is pounding.”
“It is, Meg—Mrs. Slightley. Thank you.”
“I’ll come back in an hour or so with tea, my lady.”
When she was gone, Annabel lay back and closed her burning eyes. She didn’t allow the tears to fall. She had no right to cry. For years, all she had wanted was to see her daughter again. She’d cried herself to sleep many, many nights out of fear and worry and anguish for her daughter. It was too much to expect that she would find Theadosia again without having to pay some price.
And that price was Phin. She had no illusions she would ever find another man to compare to him. He was charming and witty, kind and thoughtful, handsome and...skilled.
But she wasn’t really letting him go because he’d never been hers to begin with.
THE DUKE HAD RETURNED and instructed him to pack. Then he’d stared out the window for ten minutes and turned on Reynolds, asking him what the hell he was doing.
“Packing, Your Grace,” Reynolds had replied.
“The hell you are. I’m not leaving.” And he’d marched out of the chamber.
That had been a half hour ago, and Reynolds had been at a loss ever since. He’d spent far too much time polishing His Grace’s boots. They did not need polishing, but he found the repetitive actions calming. If indeed they were leaving, he had to find Meg. But if they were staying, he could speak to her later. No doubt she was with her mistress, and he had no good excuse for fetching her. Perhaps he could say that he needed her to help him feed the rabbit.
Reynolds winced. Even a child would see through that paper-thin pretext.
A knock sounded at the door, and Reynolds set the boot he’d been polishing these last ten minutes down and went to answer it. He knew it wasn’t the duke. He wouldn’t knock on the door of his own chamber. He didn’t dare to hope it was Meg, except that his heart apparently did dare because it galloped in his chest.
When he opened the door, his heart sputtered to a stop. It was her, and her expression told him everything. “That’s it then?” he asked.
She looked over her shoulder. “Can I come in? I saw His Grace in the public room, and I sneaked up here to—” She looked down.
“To say good-bye?”
She looked up at him, tears making her eyes look large and dark.
“Come here.” He bent and opened his arms. She went into them, all warm and sweet. He would miss this. He would miss her.
Pulling her inside, he closed the door. “They’re parting?” he said, though he had already surmised as much from the duke’s foul mood.
She nodded against his chest. “I don’t know everything, but I know my mistress found her daughter. She can’t take her back to London, and we’re staying here.” She looked up at him. “Has the duke said anything?”
“He said to pack and then said he wasn’t leaving.”
Her eyes narrowed. “He’ll fight for her?”
“You didn’t think he’d just walk away.” Reynolds gave her a meaningful look. “He doesn’t give up that easily.”
“But there’s no hope. She can’t marry him. They can’t be together.”
“Oh, I have a feeling they’ll find a way.”
Meg arched a brow. “Are we still talking about the nobs?”
“Why would I waste my breath on them? It’s you I care about, Meg. It’s you I want to be with.”
She stared at him, unbelieving. “You’ll just leave His Grace’s service? For me?”
“Of course, I will.”
“Reynolds.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him. After a moment he pulled away.
“Come here. If he comes back, we’ll be caught.” He tugged her into the dressing room. The duke had been given the best chamber in the inn, and it had its own dressing room, where Reynolds had stored the luggage and His Grace’s clothing. It also currently housed one small brown rabbit who looked up from a bowl of assorted vegetables and sniffed when the two of them stumbled inside. Reynolds closed the door. He kissed Meg again then pulled back before he was tempted to do more. “I’d be a fool to walk away without making plans. I have to find other work so I can support you.”
“Are you saying—”
“That I want to marry you? Yes. Would you have me, Meg?”
“Reynolds!” She kissed him again. He sank to his knees, and her arms wrapped around his neck. Her kisses were passionate, but he was not so drunk on them that he didn’t realize she hadn’t accepted his proposal.
“Meg, is that a yes?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, and he sat back on his heels. So she had come to say good-bye.
“I can’t leave her. Not now. She needs me.”
“I need you.”
“And you’ll really walk away from him? All those years of service?”
“I have to find something else first and give him time to replace me. Say you’ll be waiting for me, Meg.”
She looked down. “I don’t know. She’s all alone. I can’t leave her, not now. Maybe not ever. She saved me, Reynolds. In some ways we saved each other. I can’t turn my back on her.”
He blew out a breath. “I’d really thought, after that last night they were together in Wiltshire...”
“I know.” She threaded her hands through his hair. “I thought so too. She loves him, you know. That’s why she’s letting him go.”
“I’m not so sure he wants to be let go. I know I don’t.”
“Come here.” She pulled him against her, and his lips found her warm ones. The kiss was sweet and a bit desperate. Perhaps if they tried harder to reconcile the countess and the duke, he wouldn’t have to let Meg go.
He heard a sound and pulled back. Putting a finger to his mouth, he rose and peered through the sliver of space between the door to the dressing room and the bed chamber. The duke was back. He stomped into the room, stripped out of his coat, and ran a hand through his hair before swearing then stalking to the window and back across the room again.
Meg tapped his arm, and he turned and looked at her.
The duke? she mouthed.
He nodded.
She winced, and he understood the sentiment. She shouldn’t have been in the duke’s chambers with him, and even if that could be explained away, the two of them hiding in the dressing room could not. But Reynolds was nothing if not resourceful. He leaned down and whispered into Meg’s ear. “I’ll go out and distract him. When he’s not looking, you slip away.” He straightened, but she tugged him back down to her level.
In his ear, she hissed, “Are you completely daft?”
He scowled at her. She scowled right back. He leaned in close to tell her it was their only hope, and then someone knocked on the duke’s door. Reynolds put a hand over his eyes. Meg covered her mouth, which was open now in horror. The duke swore and then moved, boots clomping, across the floor to open the door.
“GODDAMN IT ALL TO HELL,” Phin said as he stalked to the door. It had better be Reynolds. Phin had told the man to pack, and now he’d disappeared. Phin had to admit he might have given the valet some other directive. Damned if he could remember. For the first time in a very long time, Phin didn’t know what to do. Stay? Leave? Pick Annabel up, throw her over his shoulder, and run away with her? He didn’t like any of the options.
“What do you want?” he said when he opened the door. And then he blanched. Annabel was there.
“I’m sorry to—”
He pulled her into the room, kicked the door shut, and stared at her. “You changed your mind.”
Her gaze dropped. “No. I haven’t. But I didn’t want you to leave without saying good-bye.”
“I’m not leaving.”
She sighed. “Phin, you can’t stay with me. We’ve been over this.”
They had been over it, at least she had. And she was correct. He did have duties to see to. He did need to marry a young woman and produce heirs. He couldn’t stay in Berkshire and live with her. He couldn’t even stay in Berkshire and not live with her—not without causing a scandal.
“I don’t care,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. I don’t care about any of it. I don’t want to be a duke. I don’t want to marry some chit with breeding hips. And I don’t bloody well care if I ever sire any offspring. I want you, Annabel.”
“No. You’re not thinking clearly.”
But he was thinking clearly. For the first time since Richard had died and the dukedom had been thrust on his shoulders, Phineas Leopold Duncombe, ninth Duke of Mayne, was thinking perfectly clearly. He knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it.
“I am thinking clearly, and it’s so obvious I don’t know why I haven’t thought of it before. I want to marry you, Annabel.”
Something thudded in the dressing room, and he glanced at the door then remembered Twitchy was in there. The rabbit had probably knocked over his bowl. He looked back at Annabel, who was staring at him as though he’d gone mad.
“You can’t marry me.”
“Why?”
“I’m a widow.”
He grasped her hands. “Which means you’re free to remarry.”
“Yes, but I’m the Wanton Widow. You can’t marry a scandalous woman.”
He shrugged. “Everyone has a scandal these days. Ever heard of Lord Byron? The Duke of York and his mistress? Nelson and—”
“I don’t want to be the woman who ruined the Duke of Mayne’s reputation.”
“Then be my wife. No one will dare say a word about you if you’re the Duchess of Mayne. And if they do, I’ll throttle them myself.”
“Phin, you need an heir. I’m almost seven and forty. I can’t give you a child, even if I could”—she swallowed—“you saw Theadosia. I may not be able to produce a healthy child.” Tears sparkled in her eyes and Phin pulled her into his arms. To his surprise, she allowed it.
“I don’t care about all that. I have a nephew and uncles with offspring as well as more cousins than I can count. The line will not die if I marry for love.”
She stiffened and pulled back, her gaze flicking up to his. “You’re not thinking.”
He smiled. “You’ll make me say it, won’t you?”
“Say what?”
“That’s fine. I’ll say it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I love you, Annabel. I. Love. You. If you love me back, even a little, then say you’ll marry me. I’ll make you love me if you give me a chance.”
She stared at him, and in her silence, his worst fears were confirmed. She didn’t love him. It was too soon for her to trust him enough to give up her freedom to marry another man. Or perhaps she just didn’t love him. She wanted him, but he knew as well as any man that lust was not love.
“Love isn’t something you can make someone feel,” she whispered, and Phin felt his heart thud into his belly. “It has to be freely given.”
“Annabel, give me—” But he didn’t know what he should say. Give him time? Give him a chance? Give him her heart?
A knock sounded on the door, and he clenched his jaw. “Bloody goddamn hell,” he muttered. Toward the door, he called, “Come back later, Reynolds.”
“It’s not Reynolds.”
It was John. Wat the devil? Why was he still in Berkshire? He’d obviously come to press the duchess’s case again, but Phin couldn’t understand why he was so determined. “I told you the conversation is over, John. You can go back to West Sussex.”
“The conversation isn’t over, Duke.” His brother-in-law sounded strangely resolute. “And if you don’t open the door, I’ll tell the innkeeper I fear for your well-being and have him open it for me.”
“What should I do?” Annabel whispered.
Phin wanted to curse again. It was bad enough that John had interrupted the moment when he was declaring his love—something he’d never done before and never intended to do again. But even worse was the fact that Annabel was in his bed chamber, alone with him. That certainly would not help her reputation, and while Phin couldn’t have cared less, he knew she cared.
“Go hide in the dressing room while I deal with him,” Phin murmured.
She nodded, turned, opened the door, and stepped inside. When she was out of sight, Phin went to the door and pulled it open.
John stepped inside and raised his pistol.
Nineteen
“My lady?”
Annabel almost jumped out of her skin at the whispered words. She covered her mouth to keep from screaming when she turned and saw not only Meg, who had spoken, but Reynolds standing behind her in the dressing room.
“What are you doing in here?” she whispered. Then realizing she probably knew the answer to that, waved a hand. “Never mind. I’ll deal with you later.” Not that there would be any great punishment. What crime had they committed that she herself was not guilty of? Hadn’t she just been alone in Phin’s bed chamber?
She turned away, her cheeks burning as she realized the valet and the housekeeper had overheard her private conversation. They’d heard Phin say he wanted to marry her. They’d heard him tell her he loved her.
He loved her! Phin loved her.
Annabel still couldn’t quite believe it. She couldn’t quite believe him. No man had ever told her he loved her. She had never before wanted a man to love her. But she wanted Phin to love her. She wanted to be his duchess.
She heard a man’s voice in the bed chamber and tried to focus her thoughts. She leaned close to listen, and Reynolds and Mrs. Slightley leaned close as well.
“What’s this?” Phin asked on the other side of the door. “Some sort of game?”
“Yes, that’s right,” said another man. “A game. I’ve been playing it for years. I’m rather good at it now, you see.”
Annabel glanced at Reynolds in confusion, but he shook his head, clearly as bewildered as she. He pushed the door slightly, opening it a bit further. She peered through the crack then moved back so Reynolds could do the same. She didn’t recognize the well-dressed man with the light brown hair standing with his back to the dressing room, but she could see from Phin’s expression that he was not welcome.
“It’s Mr. Clare. He’s married to Lady Anne, the duke’s sister,” Reynolds whispered. Clare had come from the sanitarium to continue his discussion with Phin then. But that didn’t explain why Phin looked so concerned.
“I don’t understand,” Phin said, and Annabel could tell he was deliberately not looking at the dressing room, not wanting to draw his brother-in-law’s attention to it.
“No,” Clare said. “You never did understand. And I admit I liked that about you, Phineas. You didn’t want to be duke, and I liked that about you, in particular. I had hoped you would die in the war, but against all odds you returned home.”
Annabel covered her mouth and shot Reynolds an alarmed look. Reynolds pointed to the crack and moved aside so she could look. Annabel’s heart rose to her throat.
Mr. Clare was pointing a pistol at Phineas.
Annabel heard Phin’s voice as if from far away. He was asking why his brother-in-law had wanted him dead. She didn’t know how he sounded so calm with a pistol pointed at his chest, because she was certainly not calm. Not at all.
“What should we do?” she hissed at Reynolds. “I have to go out there.”
“No!” He grasped her arm, which was an enormous breech of conduct, but she understood he was just protecting her. “Stay here!” he mouthed.
“Isn’t that obvious? I didn’t want to have to kill you. But you’ve left me no choice,” Clare said.
Annabel’s eyes widened as she stared at Reynolds.
“Oh, my God,” Phin said, his voice full of horror. “They weren’t accidents, were they?”
“And Anne always says you are the clever one in the family. No, your brothers’ deaths weren’t accidents. Actually, Phillip’s death was an accident. He truly did drown, but that gave me the idea.”
“What idea?”
Annabel clenched her hands together. “His Grace is trying to stall for time. We have to help him,” she whispered.
“How?” Meg mouthed.
Reynolds gestured for both women to stand back. Annabel shook her head, but Reynolds just shouldered his way in front of her. Now she couldn’t see the bed chamber, only hear Mr. Clare.
“George was easy to kill. He had such a short temper; I knew it would only be a matter of time before he was involved in another duel. It was an easy matter to go along and make sure his pistol wouldn’t fire.”
