Her Duke at Daybreak Mythic Dukes Trilogy

by Wendy Lacapra

  The countess became so consumed by the letters, she permitted Alicia to leave without much protest. Alicia slipped away. The sun was bright and warm in the Spring sky, and the sight somehow comforted. She had almost reached the end of the drive when a carriage turned into the gates. Glossy and dark—the Admiralty attempting to be discreet.

  The coachman lifted the window that looked down into the box. “Right,” he yelled. The carriage slowed. The door swung open and two men peered out.

  She’d expected Cheverley. She had not expected Simon.

  “Hello, Alicia.” Simon looked guilty.

  My, he’d changed. He was looking more and more like Octavius. “It’s wonderful to see you, dear.” Three years past, Simon would have jumped into her arms. This tidy young man was much more reserved. “And such a surprise.”

  “Yes.” Simon winced. “I imagine you are surprised.”

  “If you have come to visit your niece, I heartily approve.” Alicia’s gaze slid to Cheverley. “The countess told me about the trust. Be good to Octavia, Simon. Your brother loved her.”

  Simon exhaled. “You’re a good sort.”

  “Yes, well.” Alicia looked away. “Aunt Hester will be your challenge.”

  Simon shifted his feet. “I haven’t yet been to call.”

  Alicia raised a brow. “She would love to see you.”

  Simon nodded.

  “Go on,” Alicia urged. “Go visit your family.”

  “If you wait,” Cheverley spoke for the first time, “you can join us on the return.”

  Alicia shook her head no.

  “Mr. Stone, you go on.” Cheverley opened the door and hopped down from the carriage. “I will accompany Lady Stone to the posting inn.”

  Simon agreed. Alicia covered her face as the carriage wheels kicked up dirt. When the dust had settled, she turned to Cheverley.

  “Did Ashbey do this for me?”

  “For you? No.” Cheverley squinted at something over her shoulder. “Because of you? Almost certainly.” He looked back. “Simon is young yet. Easily influenced. I was concerned about placing Octavia in Simon’s care.”

  “Why didn’t you set up the trust?”

  “Captain Smith does not exist.” Cheverley cocked his head. “Ashbey never intended you to know about the trust. Some nonsense about not wanting you to think he was trying to buy your good will.”

  She looked away. “The countess is not the soul of discretion.”

  “And,” Cheverley chuckled, “no one expected you to visit your husband’s mistress.”

  Alicia shrugged. “I had letters belonging to her.”

  “You’ve a good heart.”

  Alicia’s lips twisted. “So I keep hearing.”

  “The question is—is your heart big enough to allow Ashbey a second chance?”

  She frowned. “Why are you defending him?”

  “He’s loyal, for one. I’ve been gone for six long years. He’s taken care of my wife, helped with my son. He need not have done either.”

  Alicia’s eyes stung.

  “He believes himself cursed. He believes he will destroy anyone close.”

  “Are you saying he was protecting me?”

  Cheverley nodded.

  She touched her brow where Ash’s lips had rested at the end of their final night. …you made a broken man feel whole.

  “What if he takes my child?”

  “Would a man who set up a trust so a bastard could remain with her mother part his own child from hers?”

  “I don’t know.” Alicia frowned “You didn’t see his eyes.”

  Cheverly’s gaze softened. “You are going to have to decide. But remember, you are not without a friend in me.”

  Alicia heart warmed. “Thank you, Lord Cheverley.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Now that Simon had returned, Alicia relinquished her place. Once she’d made the decision, all that had seemed impossible became easy, and in less than a fortnight, her transition was complete.

  With Lord Cheverley’s help, she’d arranged to rent rooms—the same rooms on the third floor of the bakery near Bath, where she had spent a short, happy time with Octavius. Now that she was settled, Cheverley was to set up a meeting with the duke.

  When she confronted him, it would not be in weakness and supplication.

  But when she arrived at her new lodgings yesterday eve, a package awaited. The Banyan.

  She clutched the note in her hands.

  This is a prized possession, given to me by Chev. But, it is yours. Keep it. Perhaps you can show it to your child—a memento of his father.

  I’d rather you return to me.

  She placed her hand over her softly swelling belly and fixed her eyes on the ruined castle she’d once loved. Someone was setting it to rights.

  “I don’t know why you wished to come back,” the baker’s wife huffed. “This place isn’t a haven for the content.” Mrs. Wilton joined her at the window. “Though now that there is work being done on the castle, we all hope...” She sighed. “The young one was a good boy, you know. Quiet-like. Good to us too, until she came. We saw him less and less, and then, the fire.” She shook her head. “The old duke got what he deserved, some say. He did it, you know, acquitted or not.”

  Prickles went up Alicia’s back. “You—you never spoke of the family.”

  Mrs. Wilton looked sheepish. “Superstition. No one would speak of the family, less they too be cursed.”

  Alicia swallowed hard. “What was the name of the castle?”

  “Why Wisterley castle, of course. The seat of the dukes of Ashbey.”

  Could it be? Alicia Studied the castle and the bare drive leading up to it. “But I don’t see the blackthorn that grows along the drive.”

  The baker’s wife looked confused. “There is another drive that ends at the oldest part of the keep—that’s where the blackthorn grows.”

  “Is there a carriage I could hire?”

  Mrs. Wilton frowned. “Doubtful on a Sunday morn.”

  Alicia couldn’t breathe. “I—I need to walk.”

  “Are you sure?” the baker’s wife asked. “You look a bit peaked, and—”

  But Alicia was already down the stairs and then into the street. A light rain misted the air. She had been to hell and back. A little rain was no cause for hesitation.

  Actually, she preferred the rain.

  Who needed things to be lovely all the time? Without the rain, the flowers wouldn’t grow. And without the dark of night, sleep could not renew. And without one devil duke, her heart would still be broken, and her belly barren.

  Without allowing herself to decide whether her actions were right or wrong, reasoned or mad, she headed toward the castle.

  Halfway up the drive, she paused, turning to face the sea. Churning water reflected a greyish hue that bled into low-hanging clouds. She rested there, and just as she had so many times before, she cast her worries into the arms of the deep.

  She sent out into the sea wishes for Octavius’s eternal peace. Wishes for relief of the countess’s suffering. Wishes that the Stone family would find the strength and courage to face their future, whatever that may bring. And, finally, she made a solemn wish and promise to herself—if she were so lucky to survive the birth, she would love her child as much as she loved her child’s father.

  With the roar of the waves in her ears, she experienced perfect peace.

  Not peace as she had imagined it—placid, perfect and angelic—but a deeper peace. Peace that existed in the heart of turmoil. Peace that was the knowledge that life springs only from messy chaos.

  Darkness always precedes light.

  She returned to her climb, marveling at the unpredictable nature of chance. How could she have slept in the very castle that had occupied her thoughts and never even guessed? She’d even told Ashbey about the castle—why hadn’t he revealed the truth?

  Her feet made crunching sounds against the gravel as the incline steepened. Then she turned the
corner. From this expanse, she could see the whole castle—the tower in the back where she’d stayed, and the front, which had once been magnificent. Even the shell was ornate enough to steal her breath.

  What a terrible loss.

  Coming back must have been painful for Ashbey, and yet, from the start, he’d wanted her here. I want you in my bed. She placed her hand over her belly and blinked away the tears.

  This had been a place of beauty, even through the horror. There was beauty still in the ruin. And maybe...

  She wanted to trust the light. Wanted to trust with all her heart.

  She remained in place as the clouds parted, and the sun shined down into the roofless rooms.

  Restlessly, Ashbey headed for the stables. When he’d promised to trust Cheverley, he hadn’t considered just how wrong inaction would feel.

  He should be down at the Baker’s house, on his knees, begging his wife to return.

  Well, on a fine point, she was not yet his wife, but she would be.

  He hoped.

  The signed license sat snug in his pocket. The bishop had not been happy. But any misgivings not dispelled by Ash’s professed devotion had been assuaged by Ash’s generous donation.

  Still, he could not marry a woman if she did not agree.

  He’d done nothing to convince her to remain by his side—nothing to prove he could become a worthy husband. A worthy father.

  He turned on his heel and shielded his eyes. A mist fell, but even so, the morning sun brightened all. And, in the middle of the tableau, was a lone female figure on the path. Alicia.

  It couldn’t be Alicia.

  But it was.

  “Alicia!” he called as he ran, her name broken by his labored breathing. “Alicia!”

  “Ash?” She looked confused. Maybe frightened.

  He forced himself to stop.

  “Please,” he held an arm against the cramp in his side, and continued to run. “Please don’t go.”

  “Go?”

  He grasped her by the shoulders. She was real! “You have no idea how much I’ve missed...” He choked on the final word.

  Alicia was caught up against Ash’s body.

  “Alicia,” he repeated between wracking breaths, “Alicia. You are here. You are really here.”

  “Shh,” she crooned. “I am here now.” She didn’t dare touch his face, so she fisted her hands in the fabric of his waistcoat, holding him close. “I am fine. Just tired.” So, so tired.

  He touched his forehead to hers. “And you must never leave.”

  “I would have stayed last time,” her voice quivered, “if you had asked.”

  “I tried. I swear I tried.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The coach was a league ahead. It kept appearing then disappearing in the fog.” His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. “I thought he’d stay on the less traveled road.”

  Fog collected inside her mind, but she felt that day. The feeling he was near—the sense of madness. “You followed the coach?”

  “Yes,” he said. He kissed her cheeks, her nose and her forehead. “But I lost you.”

  He had come. He hadn’t abandoned her. Could it possibly be true?

  “My lady,” he breathed.

  “My lady,” she whispered. “I never became accustomed to being addressed such.”

  He smoothed her hair away from her face. “How about Your Grace?”

  She blinked. “Pardon?”

  “I—I may never be fully whole, but I entrust my broken self to you with a promise of love and loyalty for all my days. Forgive me, Alicia. I love you. I love you, and I want you to be my wife.”

  “Oh Ash.”

  He bit his lip. “I don’t know what that sound in your voice means.”

  She turned her head and placed her ear on his heart. “Ask me what I hear.”

  “What do you hear?”

  “Love.” She drew back and cupped his neck. She smiled a weepy smile. “If you’ll have me—us, I mean—then yes. I love you, Ashbey—body, heart, and soul.”

  She yelped as Ash lifted her into his arms.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I am taking you to church, so you can repeat that promise before God—and the vicar.”

  She started to laugh. “You are mad.”

  “No—finally not.”

  “You can’t carry me the whole way down to the village,” she said, though he was doing just that. “You are carrying two.”

  It was his turn to shush. He told her to rest. She gave up arguing and tucked her head beneath his chin, snuggling close. It was the best feeling she’d ever had.

  The churchyard was full of carriages. Ash didn’t care. He kicked open the door. A child let the bell rope fall. The congregation, who had been preparing to leave, collectively gasped.

  “If you would, vicar. I have a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

  Shouting sounded from the yard. Then, Cheverley rushed inside the church. “Lud, Ash, you are hard to follow.” He winced. “Sorry, vicar. Name in vain, and all that.” He looked over his shoulder. “Hurtheven! You had better hurry.”

  Hurtheven joined them.

  “May I present, His Grace, the Duke of Hurtheven,” Cheverley said.

  “Pleased, Your Grace,” Alicia said. “Lord Cheverley, what are you doing here?”

  “Been here since you came,” Hurtheven replied. “Although why I am here depends very much on how you answered Ash. Yes—then, I am here to celebrate. No—I am here to console.” His eyes moved between them. “Looks like a yes. Put down your wife-to-be, Ash.”

  Ash set Alicia on her feet, keeping one arm firmly about her waist.

  “Enough pleasantries.” Hurtheven tugged his waistcoat. “We’ve a wedding to attend.”

  After some confusion, vows were exchanged and the register was signed.

  Voices rose to a clamor as Ash broke with convention and kissed his duchess.

  For the first time in his life, Ash didn’t mind the gossip. From this day on, when people talked of the Duke of Ashbey, instead of whispers of madness and murder, there would be merry tales of a duke and duchess in love.

  Epilogue

  Her Grace, the Duchess of Ashbey, watched from the window as her husband directed their son, Phillip, Lord Delmare, into the Duke of Hurtheven’s open landeau. Just this morning, Ash and Alicia had reached accord, as a result, at the grand age of three, Delmare received permission to climb the carriage step without holding onto his father’s hand. This very serious honor informed the wee one’s stature—he held his chin level to the ground, and his little spine, perfectly straight. Alicia suppressed a giggle.

  At Ash’s side, a nurse carefully placed Alicia’s daughter, Lady Felicia, into the cradle Hurtheven had made of his arms. Hurtheven leaned over the babe, attempting to make the eleven-month-old smile with exaggerated expressions. Felicia grabbed Hurtheven’s chin. He kissed her tiny fingers. Felicia’s musical baby-laugh wafted through the window, open to the crisp September air.

  Hurtheven was not as immune to the children’s charms he sometimes liked to profess.

  “We’ll return after the fashionable hour,” Hurtheven spoke to Ash.

  “Take care of them,” Ash replied.

  “I always do,” Hurtheven answered.

  “Go! Go!” Phillip said with a scowl.

  Ash leaned into the carriage and whispered something into Phillip’s ear. Phillip frowned, then nodded, inching his way back into the seat. He folded his hands—a deceptively angelic posture. Hurtheven was in for an adventure today.

  Alicia turned away from the window. Her children were safe with Hurtheven, though she suspected his motive had little to do with an overwhelming desire to visit the Serpentine’s ducks. She held the collar of Ashbey’s banyan closed as she wandered to the bed and reclined on the mattress.

  Judging by the racket coming from the stairwell, Ash was ascending the stairs two steps at a time. Naturally, he was out of brea
th when he opened the door. A roguishly delicious lock of hair spilled over his forehead. He closed and locked the door.

  Alicia leaned toward her husband, a languid and spontaneous response to his presence. “You know why Hurtheven takes them, don’t you?”

  Ash worked his fingers into his cravat, loosening the knot. “Because we have the two most charming children in all of London?”

  “True.” Alicia’s heart glowed. There had never been a prouder Papa. “But, no.”

  Ash pulled the cravat out from his collar, and then shrugged out of his coat. “...To provide us a few hours of peace, then.”

  Lud, those forearms. Those hands. She sighed. “No.”

  Ash leaned on the wall next to the bed. “I give up. Why does Hurtheven bother himself with our children?”

  “Because young ladies stop and coo at Felicia,” Alicia lifted a brow, “and lean down to exclaim over wee Delmare.”

  Ash grinned. “Seen though his farce, have you? Clever duchess.” He lifted himself from the wall with the smooth ease of a man aware of his allure. “You inspired his artful use of the children, you know.”

  “Me?”

  Ash hooked his thumbs into the waist of his trousers. “He discovered our children’s propensity to encourage feminine conversation during your highly-praised house party at Wisterley.”

  “Our house party was a marvelous success, wasn’t it?”

  “All due to you. I am very proud. Proud and appreciative.” He caressed her face. “But far be it from me to allow Hurtheven’s selfishness to go to waste.”

  Alicia curved her lips in seductive invitation. “A few hours of peace—is that what you have in mind, Ash?”

  His eyes gleamed with wicked intent. “I’m more plunder than peace, truth be told.”

  “Well, then.” Alicia threw her legs over the side of the bed. “How do you plan to despoil?”

  “I was just thinking,” Ash cocked his head, “how very long it’s been since you’ve worn the dress.”

  “The dress...” Alicia bit her lip and creased her brow. “The dress with the tiny pearl buttons that take an age to unfasten?”