Anything But a Duke

by Christy Carlyle

  “Lady Josephine,” he said with as much civility and patience as he could muster. “Please tell me why you’ve come here today.”

  The woman started to speak and then pressed her lips together. She tipped her head and studied him, then proceeded to pull off her gloves and fuss with arranging them neatly on her lap.

  “I’m sorry to come into your life this way.” There was a tremulous quiver in her voice that didn’t match her ramrod posture and steady gaze. “I know much that you do not, so allow me to clarify, Mr. Iverson.”

  When she fell silent again, Aidan sat forward and urged her, “Go on.”

  “I am your half-sister. Your mother was not my mother, though I knew her well.” A little smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “I grew up with Mary in our household.” She looked up and cast him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry that you weren’t able to know her.

  “We do share the same father, Mr. Iverson.” She assessed him, as if looking for a resemblance. “That makes you my brother, sir,” she added almost wistfully.

  Realization dawned in fragments. “You’re Wyndham’s daughter.”

  “I am.”

  The earl was his father. And he had a sister. Perhaps other half-siblings. Aidan gripped the arms of his chair, squeezing until his hands ached. All these years of searching, and now the truth was coming too fast. Grief welled up, anger, but he needed to know the details. “My mother was a servant in your household?” Good God, the irony of his search for a noble bride when all along he had blue blood in his veins.

  “For many years. She was kind and tenderhearted. I’m afraid our father could never claim the same traits. He can be a cruel man.”

  Aidan didn’t doubt that, but he couldn’t believe what she said about his mother. “A tenderhearted woman who deposited her children in a workhouse?” Aidan struggled to reconcile that description with the hell he and his sister had endured. “My sister . . .” The next word wedged in this throat. The grief of losing Sarah had always been there, tangled up in shame and regret. After Callihan’s story, he’d allowed himself a fanciful hope. Now there was no hope left to cling to. Sarah was gone. “She died in that workhouse, Lady Josephine.”

  The elegant woman’s ladylike demeanor faltered and Aidan was shocked to see tears well in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Iverson.”

  Aidan wouldn’t let himself crumble. Not yet. He still needed answers.

  “What did my mother tell you about us?”

  “Nothing at all. She shared few details about her history, but I do know there was always a melancholy air about her. I found a letter from Mary in my father’s papers that indicated she had children—his children—and had once resided in Lambeth. That prompted me to visit Mr. Callihan’s boarding house to learn more.”

  “Is Wyndham aware of who I am?” Aidan wasn’t sure he wished to meet his father. Ever. He now knew who the man was. That was answer enough.

  “He is, Mr. Iverson. He’s been on his sickbed for many months. After learning a bit of the story from Mr. Callihan, Father relented and told me the rest.”

  “And you wished to meet your bastard brother?”

  “You’re the only sibling I have.” She lowered her chin as if abashed, and then lifted it high again. “Father is dying, and I thought that I, at least, should come to make amends. He won’t ever acknowledge you as his son, but he is capable of guilt, and I suspect he’d want to bequeath you something to ease his conscience.”

  Aidan chuckled. “I don’t need his money.”

  “No, of course not.” She glanced at the ledgers lining a shelf behind him. “And I know that no sum can atone for his actions, but I could arrange for the funds to be donated to one of your charitable endeavors.”

  When Aidan snapped his gaze to hers, she smiled.

  “As soon as I learned your name, I found out as much as I could. You’re a benevolent man and the success you’ve achieved is most impressive.” She took in more of his office, noted the violin on the carpet, and then squared her gaze on his again. “You owe him nothing, but I could arrange a meeting with our father if you wish.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “No. I understand.” She lowered her veil over her face, as if preparing to depart. “I’ll take my leave of you for now. If questions arise, I’ve left a calling card with your clerk.” She stood and Aidan did the same. But rather than starting for the door, she hesitated. “You may reach me in the future at any time. I would welcome a visit, even if you don’t wish to see Father.”

  “Thank you.” Aidan wanted to say more. He knew he should say more. But the two words were all he could manage.

  Lady Josephine simply nodded in reply. She started for the door, but then pivoted on her heel to face him again. “If there is ever anything I might do for you, Mr. Iverson, please know that I would assist you if you’re in need. We never knew each other, but we are family by blood.”

  Aidan had the mad impulse to embrace Lady Josephine. Not because there was any true familial tenderness between them, but because she was his sister and she had come to tell him as much when she might have kept the secret of her father’s bastard children forever. He knew that the earl’s illness and imminent death was what freed her, and he felt a swell of sympathy for her, despite their difference in history and circumstances.

  “You may call on me too, my lady. I have only money to offer, but if you’re ever in need, you know where to find me.”

  Beyond the dark lace of her veil, her mouth curved in a momentary smile. “Good day to you.”

  Aidan dropped into his office chair the minute the door shut behind her. He had answers now, but they brought no real peace.

  The guilt he’d felt for years sharpened into a pain that pierced him through. He should have known that mad flare of hope he’d felt in Callihan’s lodging house was folly. Every newspaper account had made clear that none had survived the workhouse fire.

  He slid a hand across his desk and rested his palm on the carved box that held the only memento he would ever have of Sarah. Lifting the delicate scrap from its resting place, he thought back on his few precious memories of her. He smiled remembering her dimpled grin.

  He’d never been able to see her grow up, to see her become the kind and clever woman she would have been. Aidan swallowed hard to hold back the sting of tears. He bit into his lower lip and struggled to draw breath past the searing ache behind his ribs.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah,” he whispered to the drawing she’d once made for him. “I would have come back for you.”

  Returning the drawing back to its resting place, he let out a shaky breath. He needed to lay Sarah to rest too. He’d never provided her the memorial he should have. Now he had answers. He knew who their father was and what had become of their mother. It was time to remember Sarah as she deserved.

  He stood and retrieved the old fiddle from the carpet. Smashing the damned thing would have brought momentary relief, but it wouldn’t erase his history. Those days of struggling and regret were his forever, a part of who he was and why he’d climbed as high as he had.

  He could answer the question now. Who are your people? But it changed nothing about who he’d become and what he wanted.

  Why in the hell had he ever cared about being accepted by noblemen like his father? Men who would use a woman and discard her. Men who used their privilege to hide their sins.

  His goals seemed frivolous now. Belonging to an exclusive club. Currying the favor of men involved with the prince’s exhibition.

  None of it mattered as much as Diana. Just the thought of her made his heart beat faster, and everything became clear.

  She was what he needed. Loving her and spending the rest of his days by her side were the only goals worth pursuing.

  After replacing the violin in the cabinet, he collected the invitation from Elizabeth Thorndyke that lay at the corner of his desk.

  He’d told Diana he would meet with her friend, but there was no question of a match with
the lady, with any other woman but Diana. He could no longer imagine marriage as a simple transaction or practical exchange.

  But he was still a practical man. And he’d always been fond of conquering two problems with a single tool. If he attended the ball, he could keep to his word to Diana and she could fulfill her promise to her friend.

  But most importantly, he’d have a chance to see her again.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Diana escaped to the back garden as soon as she arrived at Bess’s town house. She knew she should go back inside and assist with whatever preparations might be needed for the ball, but the cool air was preferable to an overheated drawing room. And being alone with her thoughts was far easier than pretending she was excited about the prospect of a successful match between Grace and Aidan.

  Diana wanted to wish Grace well. She wanted Aidan to have all that he’d desired.

  She also wanted to return to her workshop and keep herself busy so she didn’t have to think about any of it.

  “I know people say I’m a terrible gambler . . .” Dominick said as he stepped into the garden to join her.

  “That’s because you are a terrible gambler.”

  He sniffed haughtily as he came to stand beside her. “I did acknowledge that people say so. But if I admit to being bad at games of chance, you’ll have to admit you’re a dreadful liar.”

  “I’m not a liar at all.”

  “What would you call this then?” He nudged his chin to indicate the gathering inside.

  “A reunion and ball with my closest friends from finishing school.”

  “Who all think that you’re here to support Grace in her efforts to win the heart of the man you’re enamored with.”

  Diana swallowed and shot her twin a glare. “That’s neither here nor there.”

  “You never get angrier than when you know you’re wrong.”

  “You don’t understand.” Diana wheeled on him. “Even if I go and tell them, it will change nothing.”

  Dom yawned as if her anger didn’t affect him in the least. “Telling the truth is good for the soul, or so they tell me. Also, you can’t truly play a game fairly when someone is withholding cards.”

  “Now you’re saying I’m a cardsharp.”

  “Essentially.” He shrugged. “You’re holding back relevant information. Grace can be ambitious, but do you think she would truly pursue this course if she knew of your feelings? Or his?”

  The scoff she gave him felt so good, she did it twice. “You’re lecturing me on feelings? The man who claims his heart is black as night and can never be won by any lady because it’s shriveled to the size of a chestnut.”

  “I was twelve when I said that.”

  “You’ve done nothing to disprove the claim since.”

  He laughed, and she wanted to punch him because his merriment sparked a tickle of laughter in her belly too.

  “Do you want my advice, sister?”

  “No.”

  “Well, too bad. It’s yours for free.” He stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Stop pretending. Turn around and go tell your dearest friend that her plan has a snag. Namely, you are in love with her marital prospect and he is utterly smitten with you.” He tipped his head and screwed his mouth into a thoughtful moue. “You might also add that Mr. Iverson proposed to you just a few days ago.”

  “That won’t go over well, and there’s more to it.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “I’m not what he wants.” Speaking that truth aloud was far harder than letting it chase around in her head.

  “You’re wrong, Di. I spoke to Iverson before he proposed. He looked as hell-bent as any man I’ve ever seen.”

  That news didn’t surprise her. “Want is the wrong word.” Attraction had always been there with Aidan, mutual and irrepressible, from the moment they’d met. “I’m not what he needs.”

  “I’m flummoxed.” Dom looked utterly confused. His brow crumpled and he ran two fingers along his dark brow. “It’s as if you’re telling me one of your hideous mathematical equations and expecting me to solve it.”

  “He helped me, don’t you see? And in return I was to help him.”

  Dom nodded and rolled his hand in the air. “Yes, that much I follow. And then he fell in love with you.”

  He had. She knew Aidan loved her, not just because he’d spoken the words, but because of the way he looked at her and treated her, because of his willingness to give up his goals to choose her.

  But she couldn’t let him do that.

  “Aidan wants belonging more than anything. To make connections and be accepted at the highest levels of society. He needs to marry a noblewoman.” Diana sighed when it was all out.

  Her reasoning was logical. It made sense.

  And it was breaking her heart.

  Dom’s frown had only deepened. “He proposed to you, Di.”

  “I remember.” She recalled the pain of refusing him and the agony of seeing that pain reflected in his eyes.

  “Then all of what you just said, all the reasons and rationales, must not matter to him. He’s a clever man, one who would consider all factors before something as momentous as a proposal.” Dom leaned in, placed a hand on her arm. “You must be more important to him than impressing a few titled prigs.”

  “There’s more you don’t know. Details from his past that aren’t mine to share.” Diana’s head was throbbing. Her heart was aching. Perhaps she couldn’t make Dom understand, but she still knew what she had to do.

  Dom shocked her by wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He wasn’t one for physical displays and she half expected him to offer some quip or to retreat. Instead, he held her and finally said, “This may be the only time you’ll ever hear me admit this, so listen carefully.”

  “You have me trapped. I have no choice but to listen.”

  “Love is rare, in my experience. Precious. Something to be cherished.”

  Diana arched her brow and glanced at her brother’s profile.

  “All the things poets say,” he added with a dismissive flick of his hand. “If you’ve found it, don’t let it go.” He puffed out his chest, gave her a squeeze, and released her. Reaching up, he fussed with his neck cloth and added, “There endeth my advice.”

  “Thank you.” She did appreciate his sincerity and she couldn’t disagree with a word of what he’d said, but he didn’t understand the circumstances and Aidan’s goals as she did. “So when are you taking your own advice?”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Don’t be coy, Dom. Part of the reason you’re a terrible gambler is that you’re as dreadful a liar as I am and every inch as impractical.”

  “This feels like when you used to make up riddles and insist I solve them.”

  Diana had once been good at riddles. “This one isn’t too difficult. I’m talking about Sophie, of course.”

  He tented his eyebrows in a dramatically bemused expression. “And why, pray tell, are we talking about Lady Sophronia?”

  “You’re smitten with her. You always have been and you pretend you’re not by picking frivolous fights with her.”

  Diana was sure he’d deny her claim. She’d hinted as much before and he’d always fobbed her off with a joke or sarcasm. Now his mouth tilted in a mischievous grin and she expected the same again.

  Instead he squared his shoulders, looked directly into her eyes, and said, “You first. Show me how it’s done.”

  “I can’t. But we should go inside. The ball will begin soon.” Diana started back and then paused, waiting for him to join her on the threshold.

  “How will you get through it?”

  “Wish me luck?”

  “You’ve never needed luck, and you know mine is terrible.” He shocked her by bending to brush a kiss on her cheek. “I wish you happiness, Di. I hope you’ll allow yourself to have it.”

  Inside, Diana found Grace and Bess chatting in the drawing room.

  “Come and join us,” Bess called
. “The musicians are in the ballroom. All the candles are lit. Everything is in place and we only await the arrival of Mr. Iverson and a few other guests.”

  Dom took a chair near the ladies and Diana opted for the edge of the settee nearest the fireplace. She felt hollow and couldn’t get warm.

  “So you’re looking for a mercenary marriage, Miss Grinstead.”

  “Dom.” Diana matched the sharpness of her tone with a quelling glare that had sometimes worked on him when they were children.

  “Forgive me,” he said too flippantly for anyone to believe he felt a bit of remorse. “I have been reading too much poetry of late and have developed the foolish notion that marriage should be based on love.”

  “Love can grow in time,” Grace said, though there was a distinctly uncertain wobble in her tone. “Admiration is a fine start, and I certainly admire Mr. Iverson.”

  “Even if he’s smitten with my sister?”

  “Dom!” Diana shot out of her chair at the same moment Grace gasped and a tall, auburn-haired investor stepped into the room.

  “He is, actually.” Aidan’s voice often sent a burst of warmth through Diana’s body. The sound of it now set her nerves aflame.

  She wasn’t ready to face him. Grace, on the other hand, was.

  “Mr. Iverson.” She rose and swept forward to greet him, offering him her fingers in a brief handshake. “How good it is for you to play along with Mr. Ashby’s nonsense and to agree to attend this dance.”

  Diana’s mouth went dry as dust. Her thoughts scattered like leaves in a stiff breeze. He was here and this was truly happening. She was going to have to watch her friend attempt to win him.

  “Shall we go into the ballroom? We have some refreshments assembled there,” Grace said brightly.

  “Yes,” Bess said instantly. “I’m famished.” She rose from the settee and Dom stood and followed too, but Aidan hadn’t moved.

  He stood, blocking the threshold, his eyes locked on Diana’s.

  “No,” he said with unexpected firmness.

  “Is something amiss, Mr. Iverson?” Grace blinked in confusion.