Duke Ever After (Dukes' Club Book 5)

by Eva Devon

  The ton allowed for almost anything that was kept quiet. So quiet, she would keep it.

  So, it was better she travel alone. Well not entirely alone. Her maid, Maeve, was with her.

  Maeve stepped down behind her and sniffed. “This is it?”

  She gazed around, understanding her maid’s meaning. It was not ramshackle but nor was it. . . Well. . . Ducal. “It certainly doesn’t seem to be the sort of place the Duke of Aston would reside, does it?”

  “One did think he’d live a bit grander.”

  Dukes, after all, were supposed to live in massive homes. But then again, this wasn’t his ducal seat. This was but one of his many homes.

  The home where he liked to spend Christmas with his son.

  It was still a trifle odd to her that she was going to meet Aston’s illegitimate son. It seemed far more intimate than anything he’d approve of but apparently threats of the miller’s son had done the trick. She wasn’t certain if she would have gone through with the threats. She was determined to live a life of more. But staying in the Highlands was no guarantee that such a thing could possibly occur. In fact, as much as she loved her home, she knew that if she was to be anything more than just a passing moment in history which no one knew or thought of, she’d had to leave and she’d had to make such a decisive choice as the Duke of Aston.

  Somehow, she knew that days with him would change her forever. She couldn’t wait.

  The double, red-painted doors of the whitewashed manor house opened and instead of a butler, a young man bounded out. A swirling coach coat swung about his long legs and his black hair curled mischievously about his surprisingly dusky face. Almond-shaped eyes, shockingly blue, took her in. His lips suddenly turned into a lilting smile of appreciate. “My lady! How can I be of service?”

  It was impossible to deny who this had to be. He looked so very much like his father. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but not this boy-man who swaggered forward as if he owned the world, but had enough of the pup about him that suggested he still had a little bit of innocence left.

  Aston had said his son was, in many ways, a man and he looked it. That strange crossroads of youth to adulthood where innocence was left behind.

  He sauntered forward and took her hand. Slowly, he turned it over and pressed a warm kiss to her palm.

  Well, perhaps a very little bit of innocence.

  “I am here to see your father. Is he here?”

  “You’re here to see Da?” he queried lightly.

  The childish term for the Duke of Aston struck her as so strange she could hardly reply.

  The young man eyed her up and down then gave a skeptical shake of his head. “You don’t look his sort. Are you here on some sort of business?”

  Her cheeks suddenly burned. How could she possibly tell him what she was here for? She’d known it would be awkward but it hadn’t fully hit her how entirely awkward it would be. “Aha,” the young man said as if understanding without words was fully conveyed. “Are you certain? You really don’t look the sort.”

  She cleared her throat and replied defensively, “This hardly seems the place to discuss what sort I am.”

  He waggled his dark brows. “Is any place really the right place?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Invite me in.”

  “Are you certain?” He gave her hand, which he was still holding, a sympathetic pat. “It would really be a better idea for you to just get back in your coach and head to London.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re in for a disappointment.”

  Gently, she retracted her fingers from his. “I hardly think so.”

  “Life is disappointment, my dear lady. . . Rosamund is it?”

  She blinked. He’d acted as if she were a complete surprise. “How do you know my name?”

  He let out a dramatic sigh. “What can I say, I am all-knowing. I have the powers to see beyond the veil like my Irish gypsy mother. I—”

  “You are full of codswallop.”

  He laughed. “That, too. Come in and have a drink.”

  “Tea,” replied her maid, Maeve, who’d been tense the whole encounter.

  “A drink,” countered Aston’s son. “You’re going to want it.”

  It was such an odd thing for him to say. And how did he know her name? Presumably Aston had sent word of her imminent arrival.

  It was strange to wonder what the duke might have written to his son. Young woman arrives soon. Don’t badger or try to ruin. Will ruin myself. Your Da.

  No. It was too absurd.

  Well, she supposed if she looked at the entire situation through the eyes of what most would consider normalcy, her entire position was absurd.

  Without bothering to wait for her decision, the young man turned on his polished boot and headed for the house, his coattails spinning and whipping behind him.

  She glanced at her maid whose lips had pursed into a definite sign of disapproval. Clearly, this was not the sort of grandness that Maeve had been expecting.

  Rosamund shrugged. She’d come this far. There really was no turning back at this stage. So, she followed across the paved stones and up the steps into the slightly dark hallway.

  The young man called out, “In here!”

  She turned to the cozy and marvelously casual room. A fire crackled at the end of the space giving off the delicious and rich scent of an earthen fire. Comfortable chairs were positioned about the space. Tables overflowed with books and newspaper sheets. This was the home of someone who loved the written word.

  To her astonishment, a large marmalade cat purred audibly from the Turkish rug just before the fire.

  This didn’t look like the abode of a known seducer.

  It didn’t even look like the abode of someone as outlandish as Aston. It looked like a very comfortable, well-placed farmer’s home. She had no idea what to say.

  “Expecting marble halls were you?” he asked.

  “Not exactly,” she replied.

  “Da and I like to be at ease when we’re together,” the young man explained. “There’s only a cook. No maid.”

  “No other servants?” her own maid said. “The poor woman.”

  “Oh, Hancock is a man,” he corrected lightly. “And there’s nothing poor about him. He loves his job and fusses terribly if there’s too much dust about. He’s always trying to order things, no matter how hard we try to stop him.”

  Rosamund exchanged a look with Maeve. What the devil was going on?

  Well, she was a fool if she’d been expecting anything but highly unusual.

  “May I ask your name?” she said at last.

  “Oh, do forgive me. It’s Tony, Lady Rosamund.”

  “Tony?”

  “Yes, the short form for Anthony. My mother was a very forgetful person and she was constantly praying to St. Anthony. . . Her forgetfulness of certain days led to my birth, thank the good lord, and hence, my name. Anthony.”

  She felt her cheeks burn anew. She felt certain she understood what forgetting certain days meant. After all, her maid had shared the information with her when no mother had been able to do so. Had he really just said such a thing to her?

  “Have I shocked you?” he asked jovially. “I am always forgetting what’s acceptable and not.”

  She had sincere trouble believing that. Tony had a canny look. One which seemed to suggest he’d be happy to throw out commentary just to see if people would dance to his tune.

  “Tony,” she said, “if I am to call you that, you must call me Rosamund.”

  “A bit too informal don’t you think?”

  “Well, since I shall be staying here with your father—”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Alas,” Tony began with great dramatic sorrow. “My father has done as he is wont to do. He has made other plans since you last spoke to him.”

  “What?” she demanded, suddenly stunned.

  “Dev
ilish bad of him, no? But he’s a creature of his whims, a will-o’-the-wisp, one taken by the current and all that.”

  There was such a note of his father’s blustering that she had a feeling it was a complete lie. Suddenly, she knew with utter certainty that Aston’s invitation for her to join him here had been the action that wasn’t true to his character. Not coming was a calculated choice on the duke’s part. Not whim.

  “He must have liked you too well,” Tony observed as he poured two large brandies and, without discrimination, handed one to Rosamund and the other to her maid.

  “You’ve come a long way to spend Christmas with just me,” he said smiling. “But you’re welcome to stay.”

  She stared at him as his words sank in. A dispiriting thought hit her. “I’ve ruined your Christmas.”

  “Ruined?” Tony guffawed. “By gad, no. You and I shall get along swimmingly though my father’s letter was adamant. I am to get up to no funny business with you. On pain of death or shipping off to parts unknown. I quite like England and its comforts. He knows this. So, I shall attempt nothing and therefore you can stay. By the way, that warning he sent me? It’s also a sign he liked you too much.”

  “How can liking be the reason he’d not join me?” she asked, almost to herself.

  “Take a drink.” Tony poured himself a glass.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest he was too young, but she had a decided feeling that he was far more experienced than she in many fields. The fields of love and making merry certainly. So, she did as instructed. The brandy was smooth and delicious. It burned and promised a respite from the growing dismay lodged in her heart.

  She took a larger drink.

  “Am I a fool?” she asked her two companions.

  Maeve reached out and patted her arm.

  That annoyed her to no end. She wasn’t a little girl. This wasn’t a silly whim. She’d come here seeking a new life. An opportunity to reject the tragic turn her own brother’s life had taken after the demise of their parents. She’d wanted to live. To truly live and follow in her grandmother’s footsteps. To live the life her mother had had stolen. Then after that, well . . . She wasn’t sure. But thanks to that trailblazing grandmother, she’d have the means to live a life unfettered by society, not the life so many women were condemned to.

  Frankly, as a lady of wealth, it had seemed the mad course to her to do as so many other young heiresses did so often. Throwing everything they had away on a husband seemed lunacy when they could keep the fortune to themselves and live a truly interesting life.

  It seemed Aston didn’t approve of her plan and or, at least, he wasn’t willing to assist her in it.

  Disappointment, as Tony claimed it would, sank into her. She’d come so far, hoping, planning, ready. . . Now? Now what?

  Tony eyed his brandy then gave her a hard stare. “You’re only a fool if you’re like other people. Da and me? We’re not like other people, at all. Maybe he’s hoping you won’t take our lonely path.”

  “Are you lonely?” she asked abruptly.

  For one split instant, the mischief was gone from Tony. “Yes.”

  But then he grinned, swirled his brandy and downed it. “But what soul isn’t in this world, eh? I say take every opportunity that happiness sends your way. And you look like an opportunity at happiness.”

  She knew she should scowl as her brother so often did, but Tony was so infectious in his rather positive outlook that she couldn’t put any weight behind the words. “Now look here—”

  “Now, don’t get your feathers in a fluff,” he protested. “Though you’re a stunner, and no denying it, I’m not about to risk the wrath of Da trying to get in your skirts.”

  Rosamund laughed.

  Maeve let out a derisive sound. “Young man, if you tried, I myself would brain you with the poker over there.”

  “My, my,” Tony teased. “Terribly choosy about who your young woman has her jollies with, aren’t you? I may not be a duke, and I may not have my father’s experience, but I do like the ladies and they seem to like me.”

  Rosamund groaned then laughed again. “This is a very odd day. And an odder conversation.”

  Tony grinned at her. “Well. . . It was never going to be anything but, now was it?”

  “True.”

  Placing his now empty glass on the mantel, he clapped his hands together. “So, shall I ask Hancock to serve dinner in an hour and you can go upstairs to freshen up? You came from Scotland, did you not? Never been myself, but I’m a good hand at geography and that’s a good, long, bumpy ride to end in disappointment. Though personally, since you’ll be with me, I see it as an improvement.”

  It was hard not to like Tony very much. The young man had no doubt had several hardships. Bastards were never treated with any particular kindness. The world looked at them warily, no matter how well they were supported by a titled parent. And somehow, he’d survived what seemed to be a rather strange upbringing by his father. It certainly hadn’t been conventional. Not with the way he spoke so freely. And yet, Tony’s accent suggested he’d been to the finest schools or had the very best tutors in the land.

  “I think that I have no other choice,” she said, forcing herself to smile despite the ache in her heart.

  “Good!” Tony let out a whoop of pleasure then strode toward the hall.

  “Now,” he pointed, “you go up those narrow stairs and the first room on the right is yours, Lady Rosamund. Your maid has the one next to it. I sleep in the attic rooms. I like them. My father doesn’t force me to sleep there, if you’re concerned. So no need to worry about me prowling around your door. I don’t spend much time in any other room but this one during the holidays, in any case. One does get tired of Ovid and these shelves are full of all sorts of entertainment. I’m reading a marvelous author at present. A book called The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling. Are you familiar with it?”

  She shook her head. Her brother didn’t purchase popular novels.

  “You must borrow it when I’m finished. Now, up you go and I’ll tell Hancock.”

  Having been summarily dismissed, Rosamund, to her own surprise, did what Tony suggested. She headed, with Maeve in tow, for the narrow stairs. Her shoulders brushed the walls as she ascended and she made the first right as he had indicated.

  The door to the room was open and it was beautiful, light, and airy. Sprigs of holly decorated the room and she couldn’t help wondering if that had been Tony’s idea. He was such a strange young man.

  But then she was a strange young woman. It was a pity that such people weren’t supposed to be friends.

  She plunked her reticule down on the simple desk and peered out the window. In the distance, she could see the sea. No wonder the house was surrounded by a stone wall. They’d all have been blown to Russia without it.

  She touched the cool glass. Why couldn’t she and Tony be friends? At present, she felt entirely alone in the world. . . Well, except for her maid. But she knew no one close to her in age. It seemed shocking to realize that Tony was, indeed, close to her in age, even if he was several years younger. There was a maturity to his boyish charm that told her he’d be loyal and a source of fun.

  Perhaps, she wouldn’t spend Christmas alone. Or in sorrow. Perhaps she’d spend it with a new acquaintance.

  Well, she’d longed for new things and she’d gotten them.

  True, this wasn’t exactly what she’d been thinking of but she hadn’t want of the expected, now had she?

  A smile tilted her lips. Perhaps this was just the thing. Perhaps, she was supposed to spend Christmas with Tony all along.

  Chapter 8

  Derek pounded on the Duke of Blackburn’s pianoforte with as much gusto as he could manage. It was an effort, his forced glee. He did usually take great pleasure in ribbing the Scotsman and the other dukes of his acquaintance. All of whom were present at Blackburn’s castle this night.

  Duchess Cordelia and Duchess Kathryn were whirling about the room in
their finery, circled by the arms of their husbands. It was an impromptu dance, with both women’s bellies curved with the babes they carried, and more glorious for it.

  The Duke of Blackburn had wandered off. . . With his hostess, Imogen. It was all going just as it should for that particular, burgeoning couple.

  If only his own life hadn’t taken such an unpleasant turn in the recent days, he’d truly enjoy the way Imogen was wrapping Blackburn around her wickedly delightful little finger.

  Instead of enjoyment, he felt a strange resentment. Everyone was happy about him. Or pairing off. His entirely single state had been chosen at present and to his shock, difficult.

  It had been a moment of sheer madness when he’d agreed to Rosamund’s scheme to spend a week together. With her body pressed against his, clearly his reason had completely abandoned him. It had not been helpful when she’d invoked the miller’s son, either. The very thought of her with another male, bungling or experienced, filled him with an unexpected and unfamiliar rage.

  Even so, he’d been unwilling to meet her face to face again to tell her that the plan was off. Miller’s son or no. Threats or no. Desire or no.

  This made him a bit of a coward. He realized this. But something about her presence made it impossible for him to refuse her or turn her away. And he needed to turn her away.

  His son was more than capable of handling the situation. Tony was remarkable. He had a way with people that should have been impossible, and yet, despite everything, a few moments in Tony’s presence generally made people malleable to whatever he suggested.

  The boy had traveled the world on Aston’s ships and he’d seen things that no other English youths had. In fact, he’d allowed the lad so much freedom that Tony had more knowledge of the world, women, and the strange workings of human relationships than any other youth of his acquaintance. It meant that the boy was far more clever about people than most old men.

  Such knowledge hadn’t stopped him from warning Tony, in no uncertain terms, that he was not to attempt to seduce Lady Rosamund.

  Tony had a way of appealing to all women, high and low alike. He was cheeky, fun, and completely won them over with his boyish charm before suddenly turning into what he was in truth, an absolute rakehell.