A Duke Never Forgets (The Duke Hunters Club, #3)

by Blythe, Bianca

  “Doubtful,” Genevieve remarked. “Besides, the man was most flummoxed by Sebastian.”

  “You’re on a first-name basis with him?” Mama asked.

  “He calls you ‘Mother,’” Genevieve said, and Mama was silent.

  “Is it Mr. Ackley?” Mama asked Billy finally.

  “Oh, no,” Billy shook his head. “This carriage is much nicer.”

  Billy had always had an interest in carriages, and his definition of nice might actually be quite impressive.

  No one was supposed to know they were here. The only people who were supposed to be visiting were Mr. Ackley, the doctor, and any friendly neighbors. None of the neighbors were supposed to ride about in elegant carriages in this section of Cornwall. There weren’t any manor houses or estates in the area—Mama had checked.

  A dull feeling entered Genevieve’s stomach, and she glanced at her mother. Mama’s face had also grown paler.

  Did anyone else know that Sebastian was planning on spending a month here?

  Sebastian was sociable. Perhaps he’d always been irritated when he’d seen her, but she’d had the impression she was the exception to an otherwise jovial view of people.

  After all, most people didn’t shoot other people in the arm. It was only natural Sebastian might reserve any displeasure toward her.

  “Perhaps it’s one of his friends,” Mama said.

  “Perhaps,” Genevieve said faintly.

  Mama looked at Billy. “Genevieve is going to take you upstairs now.”

  “But I want to see who it is!” Billy exclaimed.

  Heavens.

  Many children were shy, but Genevieve’s younger brother did not belong in that category.

  “Come, Billy!” Genevieve extended her hand.

  Billy looked at it dubiously, then glanced at the door.

  Footsteps sounded outside.

  “Very well.” Genevieve scooped Billy into her arms and climbed up the staircase. Billy shot her a surprised look.

  He could appear surprised. Life was surprising, after all.

  “I think we’ll have a nice view of the carriage from the upstairs window,” Genevieve whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?” Billy asked.

  “Because that’s what one does when one goes on holidays in summer cottages, and someone strange comes to the door,” Genevieve replied.

  Billy nodded knowledgeably.

  He moved toward the window of Mama’s room. “This has the best view of the front.”

  “We have to be careful no one sees us,” Genevieve warned.

  Billy shot her a perturbed look. “I am excellent at hiding.”

  Genevieve smiled. She believed him.

  Billy sank onto the floor and crept toward the window. He wriggled his body, moving rapidly over the wooden floorboard. Genevieve followed his lead. Mama’s trunk sat in front of the window as a makeshift window seat.

  Billy crawled up it slowly, then looked back. “It’s an awfully nice carriage.”

  “Can you see who’s at the gate?” Genevieve whispered.

  Billy frowned. “Not yet.”

  Genevieve followed him to the window. A glossy black carriage with bright red wheels waited outside. White horses, festooned with festive headgear, swayed languidly.

  A blonde woman, perhaps only a few years older than Genevieve, strode toward the house. Genevieve struggled to place her. The woman seemed familiar. In the next moment, voices sounded downstairs. Evidently, Mama was speaking with the visitor.

  Genevieve wriggled back toward the door.

  “I’m here to see the Duke of Sandridge,” the woman declared in a clear voice. Each word was articulated, and each vowel was rounded. If the woman needed a career, she would be suitable for teaching elocution at Genevieve’s former finishing school. Genevieve had come from Cumberland, and though she didn’t have the dialect prevalent in the villagers and servants, her finishing school instructors had still frowned frequently when Genevieve had recited.

  Genevieve stared at her. The woman looked like she’d come straight from Paris. She exuded elegance, and Genevieve’s chest tightened.

  Why had this woman come?

  “The Duke of Sandridge doesn’t reside here,” Mama said.

  “This is his cottage.”

  “I am renting it,” Mama said.

  “I heard the Duke of Sandridge intended to have you move somewhere else.”

  Genevieve furrowed her brow. Whoever this woman was, she was more than a casual acquaintance. Casual acquaintances didn’t know men’s travel arrangements. They also didn’t visit men’s cottages.

  Genevieve’s stomach hurt. Who was this woman? She hoped she was just the housekeeper who wanted to go over the autumn menu and had taken the duke’s best carriage out of some sense of practicality. And after all, perhaps this was not the duke’s favorite carriage. The man was a duke, after all.

  Surely her friend Juliet would have mentioned it if Sebastian was betrothed. But then, Genevieve had left Cumberland in a hurry, managing only to write Juliet a short note not to bother sending her letters there. Besides, she hadn’t seen much of Juliet. She’d moved to Staffordshire to live at her new husband’s estate, and perhaps Juliet hadn’t thought it important to include updates on the marital status of the man who’d made his abhorrence of Genevieve abominably clear. Juliet tended to be considerate and she might think that mention of Sebastian might be jarring in between descriptions of newly married life.

  Genevieve’s throat dried.

  “Have you spoken with the Duke of Sandridge?” the woman asked.

  There was a slight hesitation, and Genevieve wondered what Mama would say. Her breath halted, and she was unsure whether it was preferable for Mama to say that she hadn’t seen him and that he’d got lost on the way here or that she had seen him, which might make her vulnerable to questions if somebody decided Mama was the last person to see the Duke of Sandridge.

  “I never saw him,” Mama said finally.

  Genevieve exhaled.

  Yes, that was the correct answer.

  Now, this strange woman would leave, and Genevieve and Mama and Billy and Sebastian would live comfortably together until Sebastian’s memory improved.

  And then things will be very uncomfortable.

  Genevieve pushed that thought aside. There was no point musing over that.

  “Truly? You didn’t see the duke here?”

  “No,” Mama said. “I would have remembered meeting a duke.”

  Genevieve cringed on her mother’s behalf. Mama had dined with dukes before. Her niece had married the Duke of Ainsworth.

  But now Mama was simply Mrs. Potter, who lived in a tiny, imperfectly maintained cottage in a remote region of the country.

  Mrs. Potter would definitely have remembered meeting a duke. Mama was correct about that.

  “Naturally,” the woman said. “But—er—perhaps he didn’t mention his title? Did you see any handsome man at all? The duke is very handsome.”

  “Here?” Mama laughed. “I’m afraid not, my dear.”

  “I see,” the woman said.

  There was an odd note of desperation in her voice that made Genevieve blinked. The woman had seemed so courteous, so controlled, and Genevieve hadn’t expected the woman’s voice to tremble.

  Unease shot through Genevieve. Perhaps this woman wanted to speak to Sebastian about an important manner. Perhaps she was doing something wrong by not declaring his presence straight away.

  Genevieve’s heart hammered oddly, throwing in extra beats as if it worried Genevieve might not be alive.

  “Perhaps the duke changed his mind,” Mama said. “I’m certain he’s not hurt.”

  “How can you be certain?” the woman asked, still speaking in a quivering voice. “People succumb to accidents all the time. I’ve heard of all manner of vile highwayman.”

  Genevieve rolled her eyes. The only time she’d encountered a vile highwayman, it had been Sebastian in disguise.


  In fact, he’d given every indication of being one, and she should have got more credit for shooting him. If he had had nefarious intentions, she would have been lauded. Instead, she’d made herself an enemy.

  An enemy who might not enjoy learning he’d spent the past two weeks declaring his love for her, an enemy who might not like he’d been doing manual labor in an effort to provide for her, and an enemy who might not like she’d never told him he was a duke.

  Genevieve swallowed hard and she struggled to quell her instinct to dash down the steps and tell this strange woman everything.

  “Is there a reason you’re worried?” Mama asked.

  “I find it highly unlikely the duke would have changed his mind,” the woman said.

  “I suppose dukes can be quite determined,” Mama said in an agreeable tone. “Perhaps they can also be fickle.”

  “Fickle?” The strange woman’s voice sounded louder than before. “Nonsense. The duke was at the posting inn located only three miles from here. I highly doubt he would have changed his mind. He told the publican there that he was determined to throw out the inhabitant of his cottage.”

  “Indeed?” This time Mama’s voice quivered. “I’m certain he didn’t mean that.”

  “How can you be? You never met him,” the woman said. “Besides, the duke relinquished all manner of invitations in order to reside at this particular cottage. He was very attached.”

  “Perhaps he found a nicer one to rent on the way here,” Mama said brightly. “Or perhaps he saw my son and experienced a moment of sympathy. “

  “I don’t believe you understand how fond the duke is of the ocean,” the woman said. “He is unlikely to have ridden hundreds of miles only to change his mind in the last three miles.”

  Mama was silent. Perhaps even she realized there was no logical retort.

  “If he’s missing, he must be found,” the strange woman said.

  Genevieve suddenly wished her mother had said she’d seen the duke, and that the man had decided to proceed to a different, unidentified section of Cornwall. She suspected her mother wished she’d said the same thing as well.

  Genevieve’s heartbeat quickened, and even though she wasn’t in a swaying carriage or a warning ship, she suddenly felt nauseous.

  “Does the man desire to be found?” Mama said hurriedly.

  “If his life is in danger, he certainly does.”

  “Danger? Here in Cornwall?” Mama laughed.

  “You are naive, Mrs. Potter. A duke is bound to attract attention, and some people might see a duke as helpful for one’s finances.”

  Genevieve suspected this woman might think the duke was helpful to her finances, though judging from the immaculate carriage outside, perhaps she was simply more concerned with obtaining a title to match her wealth.

  “If I do see the duke,” Mama said, “I’ll be certain to tell him you were here. Who should I say was calling?”

  “Lady Letitia. He knows who I am.”

  Genevieve swallowed hard.

  Lady Letitia.

  There was only one Lady Letitia in the ton, and Genevieve had met her on multiple occasions. Genevieve’s heart squeezed.

  She knew Lady Letitia.

  Everyone knew Lady Letitia.

  If they hadn’t spoken with her, they’d seen her. It was impossible to miss her. Lady Letitia always wore the nicest gowns. Her mother was Austrian, and she frequently visited Vienna, always by way of Paris, and always obtaining the nicest gowns, with the most daring cuts, in the most dazzling fabric.

  Men swarmed about her, vying for an opportunity to dance with her. Lady Letitia moved with an air of confidence and elegance that left men tumbling behind her.

  Was Sebastian courting Lady Letitia? Would Lady Letitia one day be the Duchess of Sandridge? Would the duke tell her what had happened to him? Would Genevieve be ostracized by society if her father ever obtained the funds to reenter it?

  She’d been wary of Lady Letitia even when she hadn’t been responsible for harming her; flapping the wrong-colored fan in her presence had seemed sufficient cause to avoid her. Lady Letitia was quick to inform others whether their clothes would meet Parisian ideals, and Genevieve always had the impression she was comparing everyone to the crème de la crème of Paris.

  This was terrible.

  Genevieve clutched a nearby bookcase, and Billy shot her a bemused look.

  Lady Letitia left the house.

  Genevieve heard the door close, and she heard the door to the carriage close. She heard murmurings as the driver spoke to the horse, then she heard the horses move over the dirt lane, accompanied by the grind of wheels.

  Finally, she didn’t hear anything at all.

  Still, Genevieve remained frozen, conscious only of the continued beating of her heart.

  “Genevieve? Genevieve?”

  Finally, Genevieve moved and stared at her brother. His eyes were rounded and filled with concern, even though his most nurturing impulse hitherto had been to rerelease the frogs he found at the end of each day.

  “You look different,” Billy said.

  No doubt, Genevieve’s skin was pale. Billy wasn’t accustomed to seeing her quiver. Genevieve wasn’t accustomed to quivering.

  But she had no doubt she was doing that now.

  She forced herself to smile, even though the action of moving her lips upward suddenly seemed difficult, as if she were pushing up a wheelbarrow laden with dirt.

  “Are you fine?” Billy asked.

  “Of course,” Genevieve said, hoping she was not lying.

  Finally, she followed Billy down the stairs. Mama paced the drawing room. Her expression was rigid, and tension didn’t ease from her face when she saw Genevieve.

  “She didn’t recognize me,” Mama said.

  “You’re not clothed like the sister-in-law of an earl.”

  “I know.” Mama sighed. “I think perhaps I took care of it.”

  Genevieve nodded.

  They didn’t dwell on the fact that perhaps she hadn’t been successful, and that perhaps she’d made things worse.

  “She’s not a nice person,” Mama said.

  “Are we?”

  Mama widened her eyes.

  Bitterness moved through Genevieve.

  “She’s not good for him. You are. I’ve never seen two young people so happy.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Genevieve said.

  “Nonsense. Happiness always matters. Happiness is the point.”

  “I don’t think Sebastian will agree.”

  “Just give it more time,” Mama said. “Just a bit more time.”

  Genevieve shook her head. None of this was making sense. She didn’t need to keep this from Sebastian any longer. That would only cause him to hate her more. If he was strong enough to work in fields each day, he was strong enough to take the news that he was a duke and that the most coveted woman of the ton was searching for him, taking heavens knew how many chaperones with her in her quest to find him.

  It didn’t matter if he would be upset with her, she realized. The important thing was him. He would be happy with his new role.

  She nodded, and Mama’s eyes narrowed automatically.

  “Genevieve, I hope you don’t have any ideas.”

  Genevieve opened her mouth, then closed it. Mama wouldn’t understand. Mama wouldn’t see why she needed to tell Sebastian, when not telling him meant they would temporarily continue to be happy.

  Perhaps Sebastian would not spread their identity through society, using the story at balls and dinner parties when a diverting tale was warranted. But if he did do that, that was his choice. She couldn’t keep him from it any longer.

  “I think perhaps you should go upstairs,” Mama said.

  “So, you can lock me inside?” Genevieve shook her head.

  Then, she fled.

  She ran from the cottage and toward the ocean. The blue-green waters had turned gray from the clouds above, and salty foam splattered across rocks and s
hells and sand.

  She folded her arms across her chest, as if the pressure might stop the pain in her heart.

  Once Sebastian returned home from looking for a new job, she would tell him.

  In the meantime, there was the ocean, there were waves, and there was the salty scent wafting through the air.

  She settled on the shore and gazed at the sea until her vision became cloudy with tears.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SUNBEAMS PRICKLED THE back of Sebastian’s neck as he toiled at his new position, but he didn’t mind. He was enjoying his new job. He’d been hired as a plowman for another farmer, a Mr. Hopkins. Even though he sent a few longing looks at Mr. Williams’ farm when he passed it in the morning on the way to this one, he was glad he made the change. Mr. Williams had seemed decent, but decency did not include screaming at Sebastian’s sweetheart.

  Pegasus was almost getting used to plowing a field. He left his other horse, Theseus, at home in case Genevieve or her mother needed to take it somewhere. He wasn’t going to let them be abandoned. Each day he exchanged horses, happy he could let each of them rest.

  Each day he returned home, happy to be part of a family. The cottage was tiny, but one day they would live in a larger one. He vowed to earn sufficient money to do that.

  The problem with plowing was that the salary was low. In fact, Sebastian was shocked just how low the salary was.

  If only his parents hadn’t sent him to Eton. He’d thought he’d struggled there, when he’d needed to learn Latin and Greek and do fancy things to numbers, but none of that compared to being here.

  A commotion sounded in the field. Last time Sebastian had heard a commotion in the field, his lovely wife had appeared. He turned, half hoping to see her again. Unfortunately, no blonde goddess, no lithe angel, appeared.

  Instead, a man was going around to the farmhands, informing them of something. Sebastian frowned. He doubted this was the sort of action that would endear him to the farmer.

  Mr. Williams had almost had a convulsion when Genevieve had appeared, and she was far lovelier than this strange man. Had this stranger come to deliver somber, but important news? The men though almost seemed...happy.