Never Have I Ever With a Duke

by Burke, Darcy

  “You can’t because there is none.” Tibbord’s eyes bulged, and he worked to suck in a breath. “My cousin will tell you.”

  “Who the hell is your cousin?” Graham demanded, pulling on the man’s coat with both hands until the fabric went completely taut.

  “The Marquess of Ripley.”

  Graham let Tibbord go, shoving the scoundrel in the process.

  Tibbord managed to keep his balance as he stumbled backward, then smoothed his hand over his ruffled coat. “Ripley will confirm that I have nothing to my name. Or very little, anyway. I owed money to…some people.”

  Graham shook his head. “And you have the gall to speak ill of Stoke. You disgust me. Get out.”

  Tibbord inhaled deeply and lifted his chin. Then he spun on his heel and left.

  Graham stared at the doorway long after the man had departed. There was no money. If Tibbord was to be believed.

  It seemed Graham would need to ask Ripley. But how was he entangled in all this? He’d known all along that his cousin had stolen from Graham? And he’d helped Graham? Now Graham had to wonder…

  He shook his head, trying to clear his brain of the anger and disappointment and confusion. If there was no money, he had to sell Brixton Park. He was nearly out of time anyway. There was less than a fortnight to repay the bank, and the sum was simply exorbitant. Plus, quarterly payments were due to all his bloody relatives. Who despised his line of the family. The irony was so deep, it hurt.

  But none of that compared to what this would do to the Stokes. They were barely keeping their household together. Arabella would need to marry, and as far as he knew, she didn’t want to. He couldn’t see her trapped in a loveless marriage. He’d do anything to stop it.

  Including sell Brixton Park.

  He turned and went to the window and looked out at the maze. His chest tightened as he thought of the cornerstone with his great-great-grandfather’s name outside this very wall.

  He should have sold it months ago when he’d learned of his financial woes. Then he wouldn’t have wasted most of his savings, and he could already have started improving Halstead Manor. He’d allowed pride and love for his father to overshadow everything else.

  Including his love for Arabella.

  The ache in his chest intensified. Not because he realized he was in love, but because he was almost entirely certain the emotion wasn’t reciprocated. She wanted to be an independent woman, able to make her own choices. She was already that woman, as evidenced by the decisions she made for herself, and he would ensure she was able to remain that woman.

  He’d tell her and her parents that he was able to recover their money from Tibbord. The sale of Brixton Park would allow him to do that, plus have a little left over to invest in Halstead Manor. He supposed he could spend the rest of the Season ensconced at David’s town house. David wouldn’t mind.

  Knowing David, he would try to give Graham money, or at least lend it, in order to help him keep Brixton Park. However, Graham was past that. He couldn’t sacrifice another moment clinging to this place. It was never meant to be his.

  Turning from the window, he decided to write to David at once. He would ask for a short-term loan so that he could pay the Stokes immediately. Then when the sale of Brixton Park went through, he would pay him back.

  Graham paused in walking to the door. David would wait to be repaid, but what of the bank? They expected payment of the mortgage by the end of the month. That didn’t give Graham much time to sell the estate. Could he even do it that quickly? Or would the bank be patient if he at least had a committed buyer.

  His mind turned, aggravatingly, to Tibbord. He’d said he had a buyer. Was that true? The man couldn’t be trusted. And yet, Graham didn’t even know where to begin to find one.

  Trudging from the library, Graham hadn’t felt this despondent since his father had died. Maybe because he was letting him down by selling Brixton Park. No, he refused to think of it like that. Selling Brixton Park was the right thing to do—for his tenants, for himself, and definitely for Arabella. She was not his responsibility, but he would care for her for the rest of his days. And if he had the means to ensure she could live the life she wanted, he was going to do it.

  Love was worth the price.

  Chapter 13

  “Your Grace?”

  Graham blinked but couldn’t see through the fog. He heard the man’s voice, but had no idea who he was talking to. Graham didn’t know any dukes, and those were the only people addressed as Your Grace.

  “Your Grace. I do beg your pardon.”

  The brush of a hand on Graham’s shoulder made him flinch. Who was touching him?

  “Your Grace. You have guests, and they are most insistent. I did try to tell them you were indisposed.”

  Your Grace.

  Graham was the duke. He’d become a duke over six months ago, yet it still felt foreign. Would it ever be comfortable? He was a secretary, not a duke.

  And now more than ever, he had no business with a title.

  He pried one eye open to see the pillow beneath his face. Closing it again, he summoned the energy to roll over. Murky sunlight greeted the backs of his eyes, which he squinted open.

  Beside the bed stood his valet, whom he’d promoted from footman. He was younger than Graham by several years and probably had no business being a valet. However, he was far cheaper than a trained valet would be. Plus, it suited Graham to have a manservant who was as inexperienced as he, even if that wasn’t perhaps the best strategy. He’d reasoned they would work it out together.

  Graham squeezed his eyes closed. “I realize you are still relatively new to this position, Boone, however, I think it’s likely frowned upon to wake your employer up, particularly after a late night of drinking too much port.”

  The former duke’s dwindling wine collection had been impossible to ignore last night following Graham’s appointment with Tibbord. Just the thought of the man’s name nearly sent Graham into a fit of anger.

  “My apologies, sir,” Boone said. “However, the Marquess of Ripley and the Viscount Colton are here, and they demand to see you. Hedge did try to say you were indisposed, but they said they would just come up.”

  “Bloody hell,” Graham muttered as he tried to work himself up into a sitting position. The room tilted sideways, and his stomach did a little flip.

  “Water, sir?” Boone asked.

  “Yes, please.” Graham swayed as he managed to keep himself upright. He closed his eyes, and that seemed to improve matters.

  A moment later, Boone returned. “I have your water.”

  Graham opened one eye and held out his hand for the glass. Taking a tentative sip, he pried his other eye open again. After another sip and upon realizing his stomach was not going to empty its contents, Graham handed the glass back to Boone. “I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t open the curtains after a night like that.”

  “I would never, Your Grace. It’s just that I was trying to see if you might rouse… The marquess—”

  Graham held up his hand. “Yes, yes, the marquess. As it happens, I am quite eager to speak with him. If not, I would have you send them on their way. As it is, we will make them wait a bit. I think I need a bath.”

  It was close to an hour before Graham finally made his way down to the drawing room. His queasiness was gone, but his head still ached like the very devil. He supposed he deserved that for trying to bury his sorrow in drink.

  “At last, the Duke has arrived!” Colton didn’t bother rising from the settee where he was sprawled, a glass of something dangling from his fingertips.

  Ripley looked less carefree than normal. His gaze was hooded, his forehead pinched in the center. “Are you all right?” he asked somewhat cautiously. Unlike Colton, he stood from his chair.

  “Fine, thank you.” Graham wouldn’t beleaguer them with his problems. He would write to David shortly, and that would steal enough of his pride.

  “Good to hear,” Colton said. “Shame to
let this place go, but can’t imagine it means much to you, and it’s always better to restock the coffers if you need to.”

  Graham froze, then slowly pivoted toward Colton on the settee. “I beg your pardon?”

  “We heard you’re selling the place.” Colton sipped whatever he was drinking.

  “Also that you’re dead broke,” Ripley said quietly. “That’s why we came—thought you might like some support.”

  Anger mixed with shock, and Graham’s head began to pound. He made his way to a chair and dropped into it as his emotions gave way to a blissful sense of numbness.

  “I suspected this would upset you,” Ripley said, grimacing. “Not something we typically like others to know. It does make sense now, given your interest in pursuing that Tibbord fellow. I assume he swindled you?”

  The numbness evaporated in an instant, and Graham vaulted out of the chair toward Ripley. “‘That Tibbord fellow’? You mean your bloody cousin?”

  The indentation in Ripley’s forehead deepened. “I don’t have a cousin named Tibbord.”

  Had the blackguard lied about that too? Why would he do that? Why the fuck had he done anything? “He said he was your cousin and that you could confirm his penniless state. He said he likes to spend.”

  Ripley swore under his breath. “Shorter chap?” Ripley held a hand up at his shoulder height. “Devious grin?”

  “That’s him.”

  “His name isn’t Tibbord.” Ripley shook his head, his lips pressed into an angry line. “His name is Archibald Drobbit. And yes, he is my mother’s sister’s idiot son. He’s the one behind these fraudulent investments?”

  “Yes, and he can’t return any of them—including the one he took from the former duke, which was the cause of my financial state—or so he says. Is that true?” Graham had to ask even as he was nearly certain there was no money.

  “Yes. Unfortunately. He spends money he doesn’t have—I often wondered where he got it all, but he keeps dubious company. I never would have imagined he could pull something like that off. He’s a fucking imbecile.”

  “Apparently not, since he’s been fleecing people for some time, and you weren’t even aware of it.”

  “I hardly pay attention to him. Indeed, I try to pretend he doesn’t exist. He used to try to trade on my name, but I put a stop to that several years ago. Ran up a bunch of debts. I bailed him out once and told him never again. I’ve no idea what he’s been up to the past few years.”

  “Swindling people,” Colton offered.

  Graham squeezed his hands into fists. “I’m going to call him out.”

  Ripley’s eyes widened briefly. “You can’t do that.”

  “Why, because he’s your family?” Graham sneered.

  “Halstead should call him out,” Colton said. “Sounds like the ass deserves it.”

  “He does deserve it, but you’ll kill him. Beyond being stupid, he’s hopeless with a pistol.”

  “It’ll be swords,” Graham said, determined to find satisfaction.

  Ripley snorted. “Even worse. You’ll cut him down in no time. Where’s the satisfaction in that?”

  Graham glowered at Ripley. “This isn’t just about me. He stole from countless people, and I’ve every reason to expect he’ll do it again. What’s more, I warned him not to reveal my problems and he went and did precisely that. He knew the consequences, and still he chose to expose me.”

  Colton clenched his jaw. “Sounds like he absolutely deserves it. I’ll be your second if you’d like. Ripley will probably have to stand for his cousin.”

  “The hell I will.” Ripley took a step toward Graham. “You don’t have to do this. It won’t help. I will personally promise you that he won’t continue this behavior. He won’t expose anyone else, and he won’t engage in any more fraudulent practices.”

  Graham heard the man’s earnestness, but Tibbord—Drobbit—was a criminal, and he wasn’t to be trusted. “How can you guarantee that?”

  “You’re going to have to trust me,” Ripley said. “On my honor, and I do have some despite what anyone says. I give you my word, and if I don’t live up to it, you can call me out. I’m fairly shit at swordplay.”

  “But not at pistols,” Colton said. “Word of warning.”

  Honor was important to Graham. His father had raised him with a strong sense of loyalty, family, and pride. Though he hadn’t known Ripley long, he wouldn’t discount the man’s pledge.

  He nodded at Ripley. The numbness was creeping back. All of this was so out of his control, but then that was what he’d been dealing with since inheriting this godforsaken title in the first place. “I do realize becoming a duke would be a dream come true for most, but I find it incredibly demanding. My life was so much simpler when I was a secretary.” He looked about the room sadly. “Did you know my great-great-grandfather built this house? He designed it and the gardens, and his brother, the duke, threw him off the estate because of a lie by his duplicitous wife. My father thought it was divine intervention that Brixton Park had come back to us.”

  “Do you have to sell it?” Ripley asked.

  “I do. The mortgage is due, and the dukedom has too many debts and bills. I inherited a nightmare.”

  Both Ripley and Colton winced, their eyes dark with pity. Colton tipped the rest of his drink down his gullet, then set the glass on a table near the settee. He stood. “There’s a bright side, if you’re interested. There are several wagers as to which heiresses will attempt to buy their way into becoming your duchess. You could peruse the betting book and see if any of the names strike your fancy.” Colton shrugged.

  Graham couldn’t think of anything that might have depressed him further. He didn’t want an heiress. He wanted Arabella. His throat dried up, and he went to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of port.

  “How can I help?” Ripley asked from somewhere close behind Graham, indicating he’d followed him at least partway to the sideboard.

  Graham turned as he sipped the port, welcoming the sweet, wet elixir. He hadn’t sent the letter to David yet. He’d tried to write one but had been too angry, so he’d gotten drunk instead.

  “I need a short-term loan,” Graham said before he could lose his nerve.

  Ripley’s eyes glowed with ferocity. “Done.”

  “I didn’t even tell you how much.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Colton said. “He’s rich as Croesus. He could probably fund the government.”

  “I’ll have it deposited to your account this afternoon,” Ripley said.

  Graham went to a small desk in the corner and scratched out the amount he needed, then handed the paper to Ripley. “Thank you. I’ll pay it back as soon as Brixton Park is sold.”

  Ripley didn’t even glance at the amount before tucking the parchment into his coat. “I’m sorry it’s come to that.” He sounded genuinely remorseful. “It sounds as though this property is an important part of your heritage.”

  “It’s just a pile of stone. And I’ve another pile of stone in Essex that’s more important. I have tenants there. As well as several cousins who depend on my financial support.”

  “You did inherit a nightmare,” Colton said. “My deepest condolences.”

  Graham laughed, but with little humor. Still, it felt good to let something out. And it felt good to have a pair of friends at his side in this moment.

  Ripley smiled. “I’ll take my leave. Colton, you should stay and keep him company. I think our friend needs a little more of the hair of the dog that bit him last night.”

  “Is it that obvious?” Graham asked.

  “When you take an hour to come downstairs and your eyes are red-rimmed and your face is pale, it doesn’t take a scholar. Add in what you revealed to us, and I would have been surprised if you hadn’t gotten drunk.”

  “Just make sure Colton paces himself. He gets carried away sometimes.” He gave Colton a dark stare, to which Colton replied by shrugging and lifting his hands. Ripley offered his hand to Graham. “
I am truly sorry about Drobbit. And I will make this right—as right as I can. I’ll send word when I’ve transferred the money to you.”

  “Thank you, Ripley. I appreciate your kindness.”

  “It’s what friends do.” Ripley inclined his head, then left.

  “I think I need to see your maze,” Colton said. “I’ve heard it’s spectacular, but the former duke never entertained. Shame you have to sell this place before having one big raucous house party. Perhaps Ripley and I can talk you into having one first.” Colton winked.

  Graham could well imagine an event like that if it included Ripley and Colton. However, such a party didn’t interest him. He would be far happier with another intimate picnic. This time with just him and Arabella.

  But that wouldn’t happen. He would sell this place, and with it enable her to live the life she deserved. If it was the one good thing that could come of all this, then he would count himself lucky.

  * * *

  After so many years on the Marriage Mart, balls had begun to grow tedious, but this Season in particular, Arabella found them positively banal. Or maybe that was just since she’d stopped seeing Graham at them.

  Not that she’d seen him many times, and they’d danced only once. Still, knowing he was somewhere else and not here was disappointing.

  Mama turned toward her with a slight frown. “I find it odd no one has asked you to dance. You’ve never been in want of partners.”

  That was true, and it was odd. Arabella also didn’t mind. Though dancing would take her mind off Graham, and perhaps she could stop brooding over him.

  “It’s early yet,” Arabella said, glancing about the room. She saw Sir Ethelbert over near the refreshment table. And he saw her. Instead of smiling or acknowledging her in some way, he turned his back.

  Had he just cut her? It wasn’t quite the cut direct, but it had the same chilling effect.

  Perhaps he hadn’t really seen her. Yes, that made far more sense. Arabella shook off the discomforting sensation.

  “It’s your gown,” Mama said. “I told you it was time to retire it. The style is far too old.”