What Would a Duke Do?

by Collette Cameron

  “Grandfather, you’re being churlish. The duke is too much of a gentleman to do any such thing.” She astounded herself by defending Maxwell. She meant what she’d said though, knowing it to be the truth.

  “Here, Gabriella.” Arm stiff, he extended the crumpled parchment.

  Her grandfather released a derisive snort following Maxwell’s declaration. “Ah, yes, because you’re descended from such noble blood you wouldn’t destroy evidence? Yet you intended to force us from our home and blackmail my granddaughter into wedding you. And you presume to use her given name without leave?”

  A slight flush tinged Maxwell’s cheeks. “I beg your pardon for overstepping, Miss Breckensole. I spoke without thinking.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek against the urge to tell him she didn’t mind.

  How she despised this—seeing him defeated—every bit as much as she’d hated the uncompromising position he’d placed her in this morning. Grandfather’s reveling rankled, and once she’d accepted the fragile rectangle and placed it upon the table beside her grandmother, she peered out the window. Or else she might say something wholly disrespectful to the man who’d raised her and her sister.

  Nightfall obscured the garden view, but the unending darkness was preferable to seeing the pain and dismay etched on Maxwell’s face. To observing this normally unflappable, composed man with his dry wit and spirited ripostes reduced to whatever wretched state this was.

  Besides, what he’d intended was a far cry from disregarding the rules of dueling and slaying his opponent or shoving an enceinte woman down a flight of stairs. Even after everything he’d said and done, when he’d been an unmitigated cad, she yearned to smooth the angst from his features.

  He’d received a monumental blow.

  Not as appalling as what Grandmama had endured. Gabriella hugged her arms around her shoulders against a sudden chill.

  Legally, it was of no account whether Michael Shaw or the sixth duke had sired Maxwell’s father. He’d been born in wedlock, and the duke had acknowledged him as his son. Under the eyes of the law, he’d been the legal heir.

  She angled toward Maxwell. She would’ve spared him this had she been able to.

  Beneath his neatly tied cravat, his Adam’s apple moved up and down, as if he struggled to control is emotions. Was he terribly disappointed? Shocked? Furious?

  His attention lit upon her and rested there, his expression revealing nothing of the turbulent emotions he must surely feel. His imperious gaze, the blue eye darkened to indigo and the other a deep forest green, regarded her keenly. As if he searched for something within her eyes. Within her.

  What did he seek?

  The love she’d hidden from him all these months? His trust? Forgiveness? They were his for the asking.

  “If you try to either force my granddaughter into marriage or to take Hartfordshire Court from us, Your Grace,” Grandpapa spat with such contempt, Gabriella spun to stare at him, aghast, “I shall make that letter public. Along with other unsavory information we haven’t yet discussed.”

  “Harold, no!” Grandmama gasped, clutching her neck and spearing him a stricken look. “You cannot.”

  “Grandpapa, your speech and attitude do our family a disservice.” Gabriella could scarce believe her boldness, but he’d gone beyond the mark. “The duke has been the epitome of politesse, and we would all do well to model him. Disagreements can be solved without lowering ourselves to petty bickering.”

  Another round of tomb-like silence followed her scold.

  Ophelia studiously examined the worn carpet, brushing at a stain with her slipper toe. Grandmama looked askance at her husband, and to Gabriella’s astonishment, Grandpapa flushed, ran a finger around the edge of his neckcloth, and with the very merest downward flicker of his eyes, acquiesced.

  The inner corners of Maxwell’s eyebrows lashed together as he swung his attention between her and her grandparents.

  Gabriella offered a small, encouraging smile.

  “There’s no need for further shocks or unpleasant disclosures, I assure you. I came tonight with the intention of informing you that I’ve changed my mind. I’ve concluded that no good can come of pursuing the course I had intended to embark upon.” Formality weighted his speech, but a tinge of pain colored the jagged edges of his stilted words. Although he addressed everyone, his regard remained on her. “There are additional particulars that preclude me taking the action I’d originally contemplated.”

  Such as?

  He couldn’t possibly know about Grandmama’s ordeal. He’d been so unrelenting only a few hours ago. What then, in the whole of England, had been compelling enough to change his mind since this morning?

  She examined the planes of his beloved face and searched his eyes for any hint. She ought to be overjoyed. This was exactly the reprieve she’d hoped for. So why, fiend seize it, did tears burn behind her eyelids and her throat twinge? Her emotions had become as fickle as a spring breeze. “You’ve truly changed your mind?”

  Maxwell’s gaze caressed her, and he gave a scant nod.

  “Yes. I’ve come to see the error of my ways, so to speak. I shall lay no claim to Hartfordshire Court.” He motioned to the forgotten leather portfolio. “All the necessary documentation is within. My man of business will ensure the deed is properly recorded as it should have been done decades ago. Only the issues of the taxes remain to be addressed.”

  “I have the original documents signed by your grandfather that ensure the duchy maintains the tax liability for as long as my wife and I live.” Pleasantly civil, so much so that Gabriella nearly gaped, Grandpapa gestured toward the door. “They are in my study.”

  That took Maxwell aback, and he blinked. “Why would he…?” Lowering his head, he cupped his nape. At last he glanced up, the earlier tumult in his eyes replaced by calculated blandness. “I presume there are other unsavory factors that warranted such benevolence?”

  “Indeed, there were, Your Grace,” Grandmama stated with regal dignity, a glimmer of the striking woman she’d once been surfacing.

  She and Maxwell exchanged an intense, speaking glance, and something flashed in his eyes. Again, he gave the slightest acknowledgement with a half-blink and the merest downward slant of his chin.

  “I believe I begin to understand. I also truly, and sincerely, regret that I may have greatly wronged you.” His gaze swept the room, lingering the longest on Gabriella. “I should’ve approached this matter as a gentleman rather than hurl accusations and contemplate retribution. I am not proud of my behavior and most humbly ask, that in time, perhaps you’ll be able to forgive me.”

  She only just managed to keep her mouth from unhinging. She did, however, blink several times overcome by joy and relief.

  Maxwell had apologized. Honestly. And he’d asked for forgiveness. Did dukes ever do such things? This one had, and another powerful wave of love for him throttled from her belly to her throat.

  “Forgiveness?” Grandpapa suddenly laughed, slapping his knee in genuine glee. He laughed so fervently, he swiped at his eyes. “Oh, this is too perfect.”

  She exchanged a worried look with Ophelia. Had the strain been too much that he’d snapped and lost his faculties?

  Shoulders shaking, he wrestled his mirth under control and managed between chuckles, “I’ve just realized his high-and-mightiness there is the grandson of a reverend. And you, Gabriella, are the granddaughter of a vicar. What a wicked sense of humor Providence has.”

  What a peculiar thing to say. She said as much. “Grandpapa, I hardly think such talk is appropriate or relevant.”

  “If I might have a look at the documentation you mentioned, Mr. Breckensole?” Posture rigid and jaw taut, Maxwell sliced an impatient glance to the door whilst flexing his fingers. Clearly, he couldn’t wait to be on his way. “You may peruse mine as well.”

  For the first time since Maxwell had arrived, her grandfather deemed to behave like the gentleman she knew him capable of being. Likely because he h
ad the upper hand and well knew it. “Certainly, Your Grace. Irene, please ask Cook to hold dinner until I’m finished.”

  “I shall do so at once.” Grandmama rose, as did Ophelia. “Duke, you’re certain you won’t stay and dine with us?” She, too, must have decided a truce of some sort had been called between the Breckensoles and him.

  He gave Gabriella an intense stare but declined with slight shifting of his gaze. “No, but I thank you.”

  “Perhaps another time?” My, wasn’t her grandmother all solicitousness now? Keeping the dark secrets she and Grandpapa had harbored these many years no doubt had been a tremendous burden and to be free of them at last, quite liberating.

  He shook his head. “I fear not. I’m for London first thing tomorrow and don’t anticipate returning to Chartworth.”

  Ever? Or just not in the near future? Or distant future?

  Once more his gaze found Gabriella’s, and such regret shone in his eyes, she nearly gasped. Don’t go. We need to talk, she wanted to cry. Naturally, she couldn’t. What could she say with her grandparents and sister staring on, in any event?

  I don’t want you to leave? I want to explore what this thing is between us? Yes, you’ve been a knave, and I most probably ought to detest you, but my stupid, stupid, stupid heart insists on loving you instead.

  I beg you. Do not leave me behind. Give me a chance to ask for your forgiveness, for I’ve wronged you as well.

  No, she couldn’t confess something so private in front of her family. But she most assuredly would find a way to speak with Maxwell before he left. And that would be no easy task. She jutted her chin out, only the tiniest bit, lest anyone notice the determined spark she was certain glinted in her eyes.

  “Girls, come along.” Grandmama extended her elbows, indicating each twin should take one. “Your grandfather and the duke have important matters to discuss.”

  How Gabriella wanted to object. She wracked her brain for a feasible excuse to stay. She might argue the women should be permitted to be a part of the discussion since Hartfordshire would pass to her and her sister one day. Wouldn’t it? She had always presumed as much, but nothing of the kind had ever been suggested.

  For certain she didn’t want to toddle down that bumpy road with the duke listening.

  What then?

  Perchance…? She slid Ophelia a contemplative side-eyed look. Yes. It might work. If she was careful. She tapped her toe once, then promptly stopped. She’d give herself away if she weren’t careful.

  Maxwell bowed. “Ladies.”

  Even Grandmama deemed to sink into a curtsy.

  “Your Grace,” the women murmured in unison.

  Another refrain pealed in Gabriella’s head. Don’t go. Don’t go. Please. Don’t go. Her feet carried her forward, despite her protesting mind, and she gained the corridor.

  Adel had lit the sconces as directed. Well, two of them. It was unheard of for the Breckensole household to waste six candles in one evening to light the passageway, even for a duke. Halfway down the corridor, she slowed her steps, closed her eyes, and pressed her fingertips between her eyebrows.

  “Grandmama?” She concentrated on sounding breathless and feeble.

  “Yes, dear?” Her grandmother quizzically peered up. “Why, Gabriella, are you quite all right?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t believe I am. I’m not feeling at all well and urgently need to lie down.”

  Worry folding her features like a fan, Grandmama tisked and tutted.

  “This has been too much of a strain for you. Thinking one moment to protect your family and enter into a horrid union, and then learning all of these sordid particulars no woman with delicate sensibilities ought ever to hear. I cannot say as I blame you.” She patted Gabriella’s cheek. “Go along. Change into your nightclothes, and I’ll have a simple tray sent up later if you are feeling more yourself.”

  Gabriella caught Ophelia’s eye. “Come with me,” she mouthed above their grandmother’s head.

  An imperceptible flicker of Ophelia’s lashes suggested she understood. “Grandmama, permit me to help Gabriella. I’ll come down straightaway once she’s settled.”

  A smile arced their grandmother’s lined face. “I sometimes forget how close the two of you are. Go along, Ophelia. I suspect your grandfather will be several minutes more in any event. I don’t know how I shall pacify Cook. She was quite put upon, having to prepare a meal worthy of a duke on such short notice, and when she learns he’s not staying to dine, I truly fear she may give notice.”

  Gabriella bent and kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “I’m sure you can console her adequately.”

  “Let us hope so, for as we all know, I am a dismal cook.” She chuckled, in the best humor Gabriella had seen her in for some time.

  She didn’t exaggerate. Ophelia and Gabriella could do a kitchen justice if required to do so, but Grandmama’s talents were with a needle or a hairbrush and hair pins, not a pot and spoon.

  Once in her chamber, Gabriella made straight for her wardrobe. Before Ophelia had finished closing the door, she’d pulled out a simple gown and her half boots.

  “What are you about?” Ophelia demanded, crossing her arms. “Hasn’t there been enough chaos and calamity for one day?”

  “I must speak with Maxwell before he leaves. I’ll await him in the stables.” Gabriella presented her back. “Now, do hurry and unfasten me. I’m counting on you to keep my confidence and to prevent Grandmama from checking upon me too.” Impatient and fearing he’d leave before she caught him, she glanced over her shoulder.

  Ophelia hadn’t moved but regarded her with a rather too astute stare. A fine eyebrow crept upward and a hint of amusement played about her mouth. “Maxwell?”

  Oh, piddle. His name had slipped out without Gabriella even noticing.

  “Oh, Gabby. You do care for him.” Suddenly, she grinned and rushed to Gabriella. “I knew it. Naturally, when he was being so very beastly and impossibly ducal, you couldn’t agree to marry him. I confess, I do quite like him despite his being a Pennington,” she declared as she swiftly unfastened the hooks holding Gabriella’s gown shut. “And I think he’s good for you.”

  Good for me?

  Yes, he was.

  In short order, Gabriella had changed and donned her simple woolen cloak. Holding hands, the sisters stepped into the empty passage. On tiptoes, she hurried to the landing, carefully leaning over to inspect the blessedly empty foyer below.

  Ophelia winked, giving a cheeky grin. “I’ll go first and signal when all is clear.” She was enjoying this misadventure too much. “This is jolly good fun,” she whispered, grabbing Gabriella’s hand and giving her cold fingers a squeeze.

  Gabriella hadn’t thought to don her gloves. She’d been in too much of a hurry. There wasn’t time to go back for them now, however. Maxwell might depart at any moment.

  “Just don’t do something foolish and impulsive such as elope with him.” A tiny frown scrunched Ophelia’s nose. “Grandmama and Grandpapa would never let me out of the house again. I’d die here, a prune of an old maid.” She squeezed Gabriella’s hand again. “Besides, I want to see you marry. Promise me, Gabby.”

  If Maxwell asked her to trot off to Scotland, Gabriella would. Indeed, she would.

  “I don’t think there’s any chance of that, Fee,” she murmured, wishing with all of her heart that there was.

  Scandal be damned.

  Five minutes later, Gabriella carefully slipped into the stables. Maxwell’s horse poked his majestic head over the stall door, raising it up and down, almost in an equine bow. A long swoosh of breath blew past her lips.

  Thanks be to God, he hadn’t left yet,

  A lone lantern hung on a peg, lighting the tidy barn. Grandpapa would have a tantrum if he knew. Wanton waste and all that. But Davy had likely thought, and rightly so, a duke worthy of a bit of light.

  Of the stable hand, there was no sign. That was also a welcome blessing.

  He’d probably fal
len asleep in his quarters already. Up before dawn every day, he worked hard—too hard—and usually sought his bed after sundown. As the Breckensoles never had guests in the evening, Davy had probably assumed it quite gracious to provide a light before he found his mattress.

  Tomorrow, Gabriella would speak to him about the danger of leaving a lantern unattended and about expectations for attending guests’ horseflesh. The duke shouldn’t have to see to saddling his mount. However, she wouldn’t scold too severely since the young man’s absence provided her with the perfect opportunity to speak with Maxwell alone.

  She hadn’t any idea what she would say. There’d been no time to rehearse. And yet here she stood, unwilling for them to part with so much unsaid between them.

  The horse lifted his head again, his great brown eyes watching her.

  She greeted the other two horses before making her way to his stall. “Hello, handsome boy. I never did thank you for the ride the other night. It was most gentlemanly of you to accommodate two riders.”

  At the mention of that sensual ride, any remaining denial ebbed, and her true feelings flooded upon her like a massive ocean wave. Overwhelming, powerful, and wholly inescapable.

  Maxwell had been absolutely right.

  Attraction had sparked between them from the onset. The magnetism had steadily grown into something more over these past months, strengthened upon every encounter, and had culminated this last week. Had all of her attempts to ignore and slight him at every turn been more of an internal battle to fight her escalating fascination? Because, though her head said she should detest him for what she’d discovered, her heart had a mind of its own and frankly refused to cooperate.

  Running a hand over Balor’s neck, she murmured, “How can I tell Maxwell any of that? Hmm?”

  “Tell me what?”

  A hand to her throat, she whirled to face the entrance. “You startled me, Maxwell.” It came out a strangled squeak, and she cursed inwardly for stating the obvious and for sounding like an oversized mouse.