Duke of Renown

by Aston, Alexa

  “Then the baby is fine?”

  “I believe so. We need to quell the fever, though, because she needs to eat. She is more than five months along with child now. While many women are nauseous and can’t eat during those first few months, this is a time when it’s important that the baby receives nutrition from its mother.”

  “What about bloodletting?” she asked. “Have you used leeches on her?”

  “I know it’s common to do so but I have never found it very effective with my patients.”

  “Good. I feel the same.”

  “I think your presence will help, Lady Borwick,” Dr. King continued. “Be sure to speak to her. She may not be conscious but will still know your voice and that you are present. Lord Burton has spent much time at his wife’s bedside and I feel that has helped her improve. She was delirious before. Now, she has calmed but the fever is still spiking higher than is considered safe. Not only for her but the baby she carries.”

  “I will go to her now. Will you be back, Doctor?”

  “I come every day about this time, my lady.”

  “Then I will see you tomorrow.”

  Burton escorted her to Letty’s rooms. The bedchamber was dark and the smell of sickness hung in the air. Going to the bed, her composure crumbled when she saw her little sister lying there, looking so vulnerable and ill. Her skin was flushed bright red. Sweat beaded her face. She mumbled incoherently. A maid sitting by the bed rose.

  “I want the drapes drawn and the windows opened at once,” Phoebe instructed. “New bedclothes are to be brought. They are to be changed every day.”

  “The doctor didn’t want her moved,” Burton said anxiously.

  She looked at him steadily. “Trust me. I have experience with this.”

  “Whatever you need, Phoebe,” he assured her, his brow still creased with worry.

  Turning back to the maid, she said, “Bring me fresh strips of linen and cloths and several bowls of cool water and place them beside the bed. Also, Lady Burton will need a cool bath, as well. Have the buckets brought up immediately. And find a fresh night rail for her ladyship, as well.”

  The maid bobbed a curtsey and opened the drapes and the windows. Later, when the temperature fell tonight, Phoebe would see they were closed. For now, Letty needed fresh air and the chamber desperately needed airing.

  Burton insisted being the one to lift Letty from the bed when it came time to change the linens. He cradled her in his lap as two maids quickly readied the bed. By now, the water for the bath had arrived. Phoebe supervised the buckets being poured in, wanting the temperature of the bath somewhere between cold and tepid. When the mix satisfied her, she signaled to Burton.

  “Bring her here. Set her into the bath, night rail and all.”

  He did as she asked and she touched his arm. “Go now. I will take care of her.”

  Once the viscount left the room, she had scissors brought and cut the night rail from Letty. Who only knew how long she’d been wearing it? While Dr. King had been wise not to bleed her, it took a woman to think of things such as this.

  Phoebe bathed Letty herself, tenderly washing her limbs and hair, though she had one of the two maids help hold her up. Letty didn’t seem aware of what went on and needed to be steadied so she didn’t slide down into the bath. The servants helped get Letty to her feet so that Phoebe could dry her. Between the three of them, they got her dressed in fresh clothing and back in the bed.

  “There, dear. That’s all better,” she said soothingly, kissing her sister’s warm cheek.

  At least Letty was clean now and didn’t look so flushed. Phoebe dismissed the maids and sat on the bed, holding Letty’s hand and kissing it.

  “You are going to be fine, my darling girl,” she cooed. “Your Phoebe is here.”

  *

  A week later, Letty smiled at Phoebe weakly. “You have been the best medicine for me. My fever is gone. I am growing stronger every day.”

  She kissed her sister’s brow. “I told Burton I would nurse you until you were whole again. You are going to be fine. And this baby will be so very loved.”

  “You have always taken care of me, Phoebe. You always knew when something was wrong.”

  The viscount, who sat on the other side of the bed, pressed kisses into his wife’s palm. “Sending for Phoebe was the best decision I’ve ever made. Except for marrying you, of course.”

  Letty sighed. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bother.”

  “Never say that,” Burton said, bringing her hand up and placing it next to his heart. “You are no trouble at all, my love.”

  “But poor Phoebe had to cut short her holiday to come home and take care of me.”

  “I didn’t mind, dearest.”

  “How was Cornwall? Tell me about it. Now that I am awake and can listen,” Letty chuckled.

  “It was lovely.”

  Phoebe described Falmouth Cottage and her daily walks along the beach. Watching the waves roll in and out and the gulls swooping through the air. She told Letty about the town and how vibrant the fish market was. She even mentioned Caesar, the cat who’d come with the cottage. Her biggest regret besides having to part from Andrew had been that the cat was nowhere in sight as she left Falmouth Cottage, else she would have taken the tabby with her.

  “It seems you enjoyed your time there,” her sister said.

  “I did. I started drawing. You know how I used to tell Nathan stories?”

  “I remember. He would beg for them. I loved them, too.”

  “I thought I would write some of them down. I even did little pen and ink sketches to accompany them.”

  “Oh, I want to see them.”

  “Maybe later.”

  Phoebe had sent the bulk of her work to Sir Winston Barnaby, the friend of Borwick’s who was involved in publishing. The only thing she’d kept were her illustrations for Freddie the Flounder. In her rush to return to Hearthstone Manor, she’d left the drawings for that story behind on the desk. She supposed when she wrote to Mr. Booth, the leasing agent, she could ask him to send them to her. She doubted Andrew had stayed at Falmouth Cottage after she left but she would delay the correspondence for another week. By the time her letter informing Mr. Booth that she’d left early arrived, Andrew would most certainly be long gone.

  “I think you should nap now,” she suggested.

  “Must I?” Letty yawned. “Oh, bother. You’re always right. I suppose I am tired.”

  “When you awake, I’ll have Burton carry you outside again. I think the fresh air did you good yesterday. We need to take advantage of being outside while we can. The weather is already turning cooler.”

  Phoebe worked on her story about Freddie and Walter and added a few drawings. She hadn’t set any of the tale to paper, only the pictures to accompany it. She outlined it first, thinking of a few new ideas, and then started writing it. When the housekeeper informed her Lady Burton was awake and calling for her, she left and went upstairs.

  “Did you have a good rest?” she asked.

  “I did,” Letty said. “I feel stronger today. And I’m simply starving.”

  “It’s good that your appetite has returned. It’s a bit early for tea but let’s have it anyway. Outside.”

  “Oh, that does sound like a treat.”

  Phoebe rang for a maid and told the servant to have Cook prepare an early tea that was to be taken outside and then told her to send a footman up in ten minutes to carry Lady Burton downstairs.

  As she helped her sister change into a fresh night rail and slip on her dressing gown, Letty complained, “I can’t believe I’m still so weak I cannot walk downstairs.”

  “It takes time to build up your strength. You’ve been ill. Be patient.”

  Once they were downstairs in the garden, Letty ate well. The sisters talked about several topics, from their childhood to Letty’s romance with Burton.

  Finally, her sister said, “I sense something different about you, Phoebe.”

  “What do
you mean?”

  “Did something happen while you were in Falmouth?”

  “Actually, it did. I met a man.”

  Letty’s eyes lit up. “You did? Oh, tell me about him. I want to hear everything.”

  Phoebe was reluctant to share about her time with Andrew and said, “He was totally unsuited for me but I came to care for him. Meeting him let me see that I do need to put the past behind me. Though there could never be anything between us, I realized that I want to have a family again, Letty. I’m already looking so forward to my niece or nephew being born and I, too, want another child. Or children.”

  Her sister’s eyes shone with tears. “Oh, Phoebe. I am so glad to hear this. You’ve been so sad for far too long.” She paused. “Do you think to return to London for the upcoming Season? It is the best time to find a new husband, you know.”

  “I think that’s wise. I will put out the word among my friends that I wish to wed again.” She took Letty’s hand and squeezed it. “I would love for our children to be close in age and enjoy playing together.”

  “Since my baby will come in January, Burton and I had already planned to return to London for the Season. Although I may not attend a full slate of events, you are most welcome to stay with us. Burton will escort you to whatever invitations you accept.”

  “I would appreciate that, Letty. Though Borwick left me comfortable and I could afford to lease a place of my own, I would rather stay with family.”

  “I am glad you have chosen to wed again, Phoebe. I know how Papa practically forced you to wed Borwick.” Letty shuddered. “He always seemed so distant.”

  “He was polite to me but I will be happy to choose my own husband this time.”

  Phoebe only wished it could be the seductive smuggler who haunted her dreams at night.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Andrew felt adrift. His friends had returned to their various estates after staying on for a week. They promised to meet up in London soon, especially if Brock, the Bow Street Runner, had luck in locating Francis. Andrew had tried to bury himself in work but found his concentration waned continually. Every thought brought him back to Phoebe and where she might be.

  He decided to make for Falmouth and learn what he could from the leasing agent. That way, when Brock returned—with or without Francis—he would have solid information to share that might help the runner locate Phoebe’s whereabouts in London.

  Leaving his study, he found his aunt embroidering a pillow in her parlor.

  “What is it, Andrew? You look troubled.”

  He appreciated that she had given up calling him Windham. Addressing him by his title had put distance between them.

  “I must go to Falmouth, Aunt Helen.”

  “Whatever for? I would think you would never want to see that place again after what happened there.” She shuddered.

  “More occurred there than I have told you. May I?”

  She nodded and he took a seat. “I met someone while I was there.”

  Understanding lit her eyes. “Who is she? Are things serious between you?”

  “Very. She is not of the nobility, though.”

  Disappointment crossed Aunt Helen’s face. “You are a duke, my boy. You have an obligation to—”

  “My obligation is to myself, Aunt. To find a woman of worth. One who will make me happy and that I can bring happiness to in return. Mrs. Smith is well-spoken. Intelligent. Caring.”

  Passionate . . .

  Still frowning, she asked, “How did you meet her?”

  “She saved my life.”

  Andrew told his aunt the parts of the story he’d originally left out, making sure to keep to himself the intimacies he and Phoebe had shared.

  She shook her head. “This is very unorthodox, Andrew. The fact you stayed at her cottage. I understand that she’s a widow but this is unacceptable.”

  “You would have had her leave me to die on the beach, Aunt?” he asked angrily. “Mrs. Smith took care of me. Nursed me back to health. She asked for nothing in return. I told her I would compensate her and she refused.”

  Her lips pursed, her displeasure obvious. “Why should she accept it? She hooked a duke on her fishing line and slowly reeled you in.”

  “That’s just it, Aunt Helen. She has no idea that I’m a duke.” He chuckled. “She thinks I’m a smuggler of brandy and other illicit goods.”

  She gasped. “What?”

  He told her how Phoebe had the false impression that he was an outlaw, shot by a rival one.

  “Despite thinking the worst of me, she still took me in and cared for me. We became close, Aunt Helen. Living together with no others—no family, no servants—you get to know someone quite well. I may not know all the details of her past but I know who she is. The goodness of her character.”

  “You truly believe she will make for a good duchess?”

  “A very good one. She has good heart. A nurturing soul. I must also mention that she is very beautiful.”

  His aunt thought a moment. “Might you have idealized her, Andrew? After all, she did rescue you.”

  “I don’t think I have, Aunt Helen. I was going to ask her to marry me—Andrew, the smuggler—before she left.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Once more, he explained how Phoebe had been called away because her sister was desperately ill.

  “Let me understand this. The cottage was leased. She left to go to London. You have no way of locating her.”

  “That is why I wish to return to Falmouth and meet with the agent who leased the cottage to her. He should have an address for her. Some way for me to contact her.” Determination filled him. “I am going to find her, Aunt Helen. I love her.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You what?”

  “You heard me. I love her. I’ve never loved a woman and I’ll never love another one. Phoebe Smith is the only woman for me. I will pursue her to the ends of the earth or die trying.”

  A radiant smile broke out on her face. “My dear, sweet Andrew. I am so happy for you.” She took his hand. “I have longed for you to find happiness. And love.” She stood, bringing him to his feet. “Go. Find out what you can about your Mrs. Smith.”

  He kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Aunt Helen. If Mr. Brock returns, have him stay until I get back and can meet with him. I am hoping to hire him to look for Phoebe in London.”

  Andrew went directly to the stables and had his horse saddled. He rode straight to Falmouth, arriving in the late afternoon. He didn’t want to stop at the Butlers’ shop because he didn’t want Mrs. Butler gossiping about his reasons for returning. Instead, he stopped at an inn he spotted and called for a tankard of ale. As he sipped on it, he asked the serving wench about Mr. Booth.

  “Are you here to lease something, Your Grace?” She shook her head. “If so, it won’t be from Mr. Booth.”

  “Why not?”

  “He died two days ago.”

  “What?”

  “It was either his heart or the fire that killed him.”

  Andrew’s heart sank. “Tell me.”

  She launched into a story about Mr. Booth’s weak heart, which everyone knew about since he had trouble walking more than twenty feet at a time.

  “They think his heart might have given out and he dropped his cigar. He was always smoking one. If he was helpless or even dead, he couldn’t have put out the fire from the cigar. His whole place went up in flames. Not a stick of furniture left.”

  “I assume you mean his office. Where all his paperwork was kept.”

  “Yes, he died there. It’s a huge mess because he was the agent for all the properties in this area. Tried to get his son to work the business with him but that boy was no good from the start. Last I heard, he’d gone to prison for theft.”

  A customer called her away and Andrew pushed aside his ale. His one good prospect at finding out Phoebe’s whereabouts had literally gone up in smoke. He thought about what to do and decided he had no choice. Leaving a coin for the bar
maid, he made his way to Mrs. Butler’s shop.

  When Andrew entered, she spied him immediately and called out, “Your Grace! It’s so nice to see you again so soon. We’d heard that you left Moreland Hall. What a bad business, with your brother and all.”

  “Half-brother,” he muttered.

  “Say again?”

  When he didn’t respond, she said, “What might I do for you?”

  “You had mentioned Mr. Booth, the leasing agent to me,” he began.

  She looked puzzled. “Yes, Your Grace. You said you might have friends who’d want to come and stay near Falmouth.”

  “Do you know Falmouth Cottage?” he asked.

  “I do. That nice Mrs. Smith was renting it but she hasn’t been in for more than a week. Surprises me since she’s come two or three times a week since she moved in. A nice lady, Mrs. Smith.”

  “Do you know how long her lease runs?”

  Mrs. Butler thought a moment. “I believe she said for six months though she mentioned she might like to return here next year. She does seem to love the Cornish coast.”

  “Next year,” he said dully. “Do you know where she lives when not at Falmouth Cottage?”

  “Now that you mention it, I don’t. She was private about things like that. A recent widow, you know.”

  “Thank you.”

  He turned and walked out, Mrs. Butler calling after him. Andrew ignored her. If Mrs. Butler didn’t know, then no one in Falmouth would know where Phoebe came from or where she’d headed to in London. He would have little to nothing to share with Mr. Brock but hoped the man would still take the case.

  If not, Andrew would scour London himself—and then return to Falmouth next year, hoping Phoebe might come back.

  Would he have to wait that long to see her?

  With a heavy heart, he reclaimed Mercury and rode toward home.

  *

  When Andrew returned the next day, he learned that Mr. Brock was a houseguest and asked that the runner join him in his study. Within five minutes, Mr. Brock was announced and Andrew had him take a seat.

  “Tell me about Francis.”

  “I never found him, Your Grace,” Brock said. “I missed him a few times. Gave his description to those I spoke with along the road and learned he’d been there but had moved on. I traced him to the Bristol docks and feel confident he boarded a ship there.”