* * *
All of this was Adelia’s fault, really.
Dorothea’s cheeks were still damp from tears as she huffed out a breath. Sarah carefully wiped the dirt from her cheeks and neck.
Miss Raby had suggested that they leave their governess-approved path behind. She had somehow persuaded Dorothea to lead her to the whispering caves at the bottom of the garden.
Usually, Dorothea would have said ‘no’, not wanting to muddy her pretty shoes or gown—Miss Raby didn’t have such concerns, her clothes were ugly anyway—but that morning the Earl had come down to breakfast and had grinned at Miss Raby.
She was in the same gown she’d worn when they left the Duke’s manor, her hair eternally tangled, clearly showing how little time she spent brushing it, and still half asleep. Yet the Earl had smiled at her in a way that he had never smiled at Lady Dorothea. It had made her throat clench, and she had barely touched her food.
Miss Raby was in rare form today as she took the attention away from Dorothea. That was lucky as Dorothea hadn’t focused as hard during their French lessons as usual, which would have annoyed the governess.
Dorothea had other things to think about.
For one thing, she was quite surprised that Miss Raby was able to keep up with her. Especially after joining Dorothea’s classes for just one week. The governess had been curious as well, and sought to find out from Miss Raby how a girl brought up on a farm was so educated.
“The sisters in the convent, ma’am,” Miss Raby had said, feigning bashful shyness with her usual aplomb. The governess was as taken with her as everyone else. Dorothea found it so disgusting.
Mother had talked to her about her parents or rather, ‘the people who raised her’ as Lady Cornhill insisted on calling them. Miss Raby discussed them quite freely and it was clear that she loved them. Dorothea didn’t understand why she’d left them if she loved them and missed them so much.
Father sometimes listened in to the stories about them as if he wanted to find out as much as he could. As if, somehow, the answer to the puzzle of who Miss Raby was would be revealed in her words. Dorothea knew that Miss Raby resembled her quite a lot—Father had said as much. Dorothea didn’t really see the resemblance.
She was much prettier than Miss Raby could ever be.
When Miss Raby came into the hall with muddy knees and hands and hair even messier than usual from pottering about in the garden, or when she forgot herself and began to run in the halls…she truly could not see where her parents thought they could be kin. She wished the Duke could hurry up and make those arrangements already so that Miss Raby could move to his aunt’s house.
“You remind me of my sister, sometimes” she had heard their father say to Miss Raby. Apparently, Dorothea reminded him of no one. He would say that she was a little lady, like her mother, but Dorothea thought that he didn’t like that too much. He liked Miss Raby’s wildness more.
Dorothea decided to set aside her ladylike sensibilities when Miss Raby had challenged her to a race through the woods on their afternoon walk. Partly because she knew by her expression that Miss Raby was already anticipating rejection.
I can be like you. I’ll show you, and I’ll show Father.
But Dorothea did not apparently know the gardens as well as Miss Raby did. She did not spend as much time running and exploring it as Miss Raby had in the last few days. So while Miss Raby set off through the trees nimbly and quickly, Dorothea barely managed to keep up. They had just run far enough that their governess’s calls were distant when Dorothea tripped over a tree root and fell to the ground.
Her knees had been scratched on the brambles and bloodied. Her hands were scraped where she flung them out to cushion her fall. The impact of her chin hitting the ground, in spite of this, had caused her to bite her tongue, and she tasted the warm iron of blood on it. The pain made her cry as did the fact that she knew Miss Raby would not cry. She would have got up and got on with it, like the peasant that she was, and Dorothea hated that her father seemed to prefer that.
Miss Raby had run back to her and helped her up, telling her that she was all right and it would be fine. She seemed truly concerned as well as fearful, probably because she thought she’d be sent away. Her expression reminded Dorothea of her father when Miss Raby got hurt. It hurt more to acknowledge that she could even see a resemblance at all.
Hearing the cries, the governess had sped up and found the two girls. With a display of strength Dorothea would never have thought Governess Whitfield capable of, she picked Dorothea up and carried her back to the manor house. Miss Raby trailed at her heels like a worried puppy.
A footman had come across them in the yard and carried Dorothea the rest of the way to her chambers. Dorothea had not stopped crying the whole way. Later, as she lay abed with her lady’s maid tending her, she brooded over the entire incident, wondering what had possessed her to do such a thing.
Her Mother had been worried, of course, and fretted awfully over Dorothea. She kissed her face and hands and knees, only moving aside to let the lady’s maid work. Then she had bundled the nervous Miss Raby into her arms and left the room to comfort her much to Dorothea’s chagrin.
The ointment applied to her cuts and scrapes stung her palms and knees, but the bandages were soft. Sarah had given her water laced with salt to swill her mouth out. It hurt quite badly and she moaned in protest.
“You bit your cheek in the fall but it will be perfectly fine,” Sarah said.
Her mother had brought Dorothea a lemon cake to cheer her up, and stood behind her to brush her hair, humming a lullaby as she always did. Her father chose to arrive then, concern etching his features. The confection she was eating suddenly became nauseating.
“Dorothea,” he said, sitting on the side of the bed and cupping her face in his big hands. Tears welled again in Dorothea’s eyes, to her eternal mortification, “How are you, child? Governess Whitfield said you fell in the gardens.”
The question was directed at her, but Dorothea saw him looking over her head, at her mother. Dorothea thought maybe he didn’t like to look into her face anymore. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t her fault she resembled the other girl so much but was so different from her.
“She’s all right, Elwin,” her mother said softly, when Dorothea didn’t answer. “The physician’s been to see her, and said she is fine.”
“What has transpired here?” The Earl held her bandaged hands gently in his own, turning them over and running his fingers over her palms.
“Miss Raby wanted to race,” Dorothea spoke, at last, sounding more miserable than she meant to. Her father looked up at her in surprise.
“Racing with Miss Raby?”
He looked over her head again, and Dorothea heard a sound behind her that told her mother was nodding. Miss Raby had probably told her what happened.
Her father looked back to her, smiling slightly. “Why did you take her up on that, Dorothea? You never run anywhere. It’s not like you.”
It’s not ladylike.
Dorothea’s lashes swept downward, hiding her eyes from him as she pulled her injured hands away and folded them in her lap. Her father leaned back, crossing his arms and watching her closely. Lady Cornhill’s fingers continued to run through her hair.
“I wanted to be more like Miss Raby,” she said at length. Her mother made a surprised noise from behind her, but she said nothing.
“Why, Dorothea?” her father sounded bemused. The prickling of her eyes intensified, and Dorothea felt her throat grow tight. She was reluctant to answer, and swallowed the lump in her throat, trying not to want to cry in front of him. But the silence her father maintained was charged with expectation, and Dorothea couldn’t help herself. It was unladylike to lie.
“Y-you like her more than me,” she finally whispered into the silent room, only a hiccup belying how close to tears she was. Dorothea was proud of herself for that.
The silence stretched so long that Dorothea had time to compose hers
elf. Her mother rested her hands on Dorothea’s shoulders, having stopped stroking her hair. She felt emboldened enough to raise her head and see the look on the Earl’s face. She could feel the tears threatening again.
Before she knew it, she was enveloped in her father’s arms. Her face was pressed into the nape of his neck and her hands were clinging to his waistcoat. She wasn’t aware of her mother slipping out of the room.
Eventually, she felt her father shifting backward, settling Dorothea against his side and looking her in the eye. His thumbs wiped the fresh tears from her face.
“Dorothea, my child,” he murmured, brow furrowed. “After all these years of doting, how could this even cross your mind?”
He sounded hurt, which pricked at Dorothea’s mostly dormant conscience. “Because she is the new shiny thing in your life. You’re fascinated with her. She acts like Aunt, too, you always say so, and I’m not like her. We might look alike but you like who she is better than you like me. Even if you’re the ones who made me this way,” she babbled, brushing away her tears with a fist. She took a breath, sniffling pitifully. “I just wanted you to smile at me as you do at Miss Raby.”
The Earl stayed quiet for a long moment, tightening his hold on her as his chin came to rest on the crown of her straw-colored head. Dorothea held on, breathing in his pine and mint scent.
“I love you very much, Dorothea,” he finally told her, voice quiet. Dorothea was torn between wanting to sit back and gaze at him, and staying in his comforting embrace with the thump of his heartbeat beneath her ear.
“You were my only living child, the first I saw grow inside your mother. I got to hold you just minutes after you were born and see your sweet eyes open for the first time. I never got that with her, you know. They took her away so fast. She was pale and grey and they said she was dead. They didn’t want us to look.”
Dorothea did know. She had heard the stories a few times already. She didn’t see why she should be the one to pay just because someone made a mistake long ago. Her father continued. “I shall cherish those memories always, Dorothea. You and she are equally special to me. Do you really think I love her more because she’s new—because she acts differently than you?”
“She reminds you of your sister,” Dorothea said stubbornly. “And you lost her. You think she’s your long-lost daughter.”
She felt her father swallow. “Yes, I do. But she is no replacement, not for you, nor my long-dead sister. Just as you are not here for filling empty boots. I actually get so pleased about it because you both have the same mannerisms. It gives me more hope that she is who we think is.”
Dorothea stiffened, scowling up at him huffily, but he started chuckling before she could say anything.
“Now that expression is familiar. My sister used to frown at me in exactly the same way whenever she was annoyed.”
Dorothea’s gaped at him, even as her forehead smoothened. She ran a hand over her own furrowed brow. “You’ve never told me that.”
“Well, you rarely frown at me,” the Earl smiled, but it looked sad. “You’re a respectful, prim and proper lady that way.”
Dorothea’s lips turned downward, “Do you not want me to be?”
“I love that you are, Dorothea, because I love everything about my daughter,” he said, smoothing her straw-colored hair with one hand. “You will always be my firstborn, the light of my life.”
Dorothea pressed her face back into his chest to hide her face. “I’ll always be your little girl, Papa.”
They sat in silence for a long moment, just hugging, before he said, “Nothing and no one could replace you, my child. I cannot believe you do not know that.”
“She just came out of nowhere.”
“She is your sister. A companion for life. When your mother and I pass on, you will not have to be alone.”
Dorothea fell quiet. Her father rubbed her back in soothing circles.
“I love Miss Raby for I do believe she is my daughter, and I love you very much,” he continued, and then fell quiet. Finally, he practically whispered, “My only sister and I had a very high regard for each other. It’s true that I see her in Miss Raby, and also in you. You’re strong-minded, as she was, and astute, and not easily swayed once you choose a path. You may not run through the woods like she and Miss Raby did, or get muddy, but there was a lot more to her than that.”
Dorothea’s head was starting to throb with fatigue after the days’ happenings, even as her heart was fit to burst with love. She nestled nearer to her father.
“I’m sleepy,” she told him through a yawn after a few moments, and she allowed her father to lay her onto her bed and pull the covers up around her. When he tried to leave, however, Dorothea refused to release his hand, and so he stayed with her until she fell asleep.
Chapter 13
Accommodations
Harry called on his aunt, feeling unreasonably nervous about what he was about to ask her.
“Aunt Harriet, it is good to see you.” He bussed her cheek before seating her, and then following suit.
“To what do I owe this honor? The Duke of Rosemond does not call on his relatives for nothing.”
Harry simply eye-balled her. “My mother is doing as well as can be expected, thank you for asking.”
Harriet Winchester snorted, looking away. “Your father indulged that lady too much.”
Harry snorted. “Well, that is truly none of your business.”
“Yes, indeed. But if you are here, then you want something from me.”
“Actually, I am here to bring something to you. I understand you have been looking for a companion.”
“I have.”
“Well, I have a young lady in need of shelter.”
“And you why can you not give it to her?”
“The situation is complicated.”
“If you expect me to have this person in my home, you better tell me more than, ‘the situation is complicated,’ Your Grace.”
Harry sighed. He and his aunt had a complicated history. He remembered that when his father died, she disputed the passing on of the title to him as—she said—there had been a rumor his mother was not a virgin on her wedding day. It might have been a godawful scandal if Harry hadn’t averted it with bribery.
Aunt Harriet chose to think of it as ‘her due’ while Harry referred to it as extortion and blackmail.
“Need I remind you that this house is still in my name? You may well end up on the street if you’re not careful.”
“Not if you know what is good for you, Your Grace.” Her voice was arctic.
“Ah, there you are. Now, will you take this lady in or not?”
Harriet shrugged. “I suppose I could use the companionship.”
“Excellent. I shall have her sent to you soon. Be kind, won’t you?”
“Aren’t I always?”
Harry snorted and got to his feet. “Always a pleasure, Aunt,” he said with a stiff bow. She nodded stiffly and he turned, and left.
* * *
Adelia was feeling restless. She felt compelled to apologize for everything, especially Lady Dorothea’s perpetual bad mood. Watching her take out her mawkishness on the servants pained Adelia. There wasn’t much she could do but try to make herself as invisible as possible. She had tried to be friendly, to engage with Lady Dorothea, but that just seemed to exacerbate things.
She was still shaking from the tantrum Lady Dorothea threw after she took a fall in the gardens. In all her years, she had never seen such a display of temper. Lady Dorothea’s parents seemed unfazed, however, only going out of their way to indulge her even more.
So it was rather a relief to her when Harry arrived with an announcement.
“My aunt is very happy to receive Miss Raby for the duration.”
Adelia had already written to her mother. Knowing that the local parson would read the letter to her, she did not say much. Just that she had come across some people who might be kin and they were eager for a meeting. She
knew that her mother would not have the wherewithal to travel and so she had enclosed five guineas given to her by the Earl. She knew that just the inclusion of the money would raise her mother’s hackles. There was no way that Adelia had earned the money from her job as a maid.
She hoped that if there was something…nefarious about her origins, it would be enough of a warning. She had no wish to get her mother in any trouble. Not for all the gold in the world.
“I shall pack my things at once,” Adelia announced.
“No, no, Miss Raby,” Lady Cornhill protested. “There is absolutely no hurry!”
A Vixen For The Devilish Duke (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 11