The Duke's Defiant Debutante

by Gemma Blackwood

  Until we meet again I do not breathe, eat, sleep – I am only the shadow of Adelaide. Your kiss will bring me to life once more, like the princess in the fairy-tale.

  Ever, ever yours

  Adelaide

  "This is a love letter!" Angelica thrust the letter back towards Lord Oliver. "You should not have let me read this!"

  "It was the only way I could prove the truth of what lay between me and Adelaide," he answered solemnly.

  Angelica's mind was whirring like the cogs of an intricate clock. True, the letter was old, and the words of love seemed genuine – but she had no idea what Adelaide's handwriting looked like. Anyone could have written those words on an old piece of paper, signed them Adelaide, and addressed it to Oliver.

  Besides, even if it were true that Lord Oliver had been in love with Adelaide Thorne, she still owed it to Edward to ask for his version of events.

  "Read the other letter before you make up your mind," Valentina urged her.

  The newer letter was more of a brief note. The envelope was addressed to the Earl of Lathkill. Angelica's fingers began to tremble as she realised she recognised the handwriting. It was Edward's.

  "How did you get this?" she demanded. "It isn't yours."

  "The important part is what lies inside it," said Valentina.

  Lathkill,

  It seems my stay in London will be still shorter than expected. I am going this morning to arrange my marriage to Miss Stirling.

  You will think me mad, I know, but she adequately meets my requirements. She did not speak a single word to me throughout our entire dance together; sure proof of the silent and submissive nature I demand. I will not waste further time on the matter.

  All that is necessary is to get her with child, after all, and I can send her back to London while I remain at Redhaven Castle in the certain knowledge that its ancient stones will never be sullied by the hands of that devil, Reginald Thorne.

  With that in mind, if you wish to see me again, it must be before the end of the month.

  Yours,

  Thorne

  "How did you get this?" Angelica repeated, this time a little faintly.

  "The Earl of Lathkill lost his jacket to a friend of mine in a game of cards," shrugged Reginald. "This was in the pocket. I'm sure Lathkill has many fine qualities, but care of his possessions – and his choice of friends – are not among them."

  "You have no right to steal another man's correspondence!"

  Angelica was shocked to find tears pricking at her eyes. Within moments, Valentina's arms were around her. "My dear Angelica, it is quite natural that you should cry. Cry your heart out! I am here for you."

  "What should I do?" Angelica asked. Try as she might, the words from that awful letter kept replaying in her mind. Silent and submissive... send her back to London... I will not waste further time.

  All she wanted was for someone to tell her that it wasn't true. That Edward had never written those hateful words. But his distinctive, looping handwriting was unmistakable – as was the seal on the letter.

  Had it really been in this frame of mind that he had come to propose to her that day?

  Had she been right all along, to refuse him?

  The words he used to describe her – silent and submissive – she was anything but that! She knew her father had worked to persuade him not to rescind his proposal, but she'd had little idea just how hard it had been.

  If all Edward wanted was a wife who would stay silent, bear a child, and go back to London alone, why had he bothered courting her? He had carried her sister home from the park – he had kissed her! What was it all for?

  Two Edwards now appeared in Angelica's mind. One, modest yet loving, reserved but with an inner warmth, was the man she thought she had begun to uncover.

  The other was a proud, cold-hearted villain who had shot his sister's lover without a second thought.

  What was Angelica to do, if all the rumours about her future husband turned out to be true?

  "You must do what your heart tells you," said Valentina, holding her tight. "You have a wise heart. Let it guide you. No, no." She stopped Angelica from pressing the letter back into her hand. "Keep it. Let it remind you of the truth behind all his lies."

  "I still cannot believe that these are his feelings now. He has been kind to me –"

  "He is capable of kindness," said Reginald, "but only to further his own desires. You are not the first person he has tricked."

  "Think of me," said Lord Oliver. "I, who considered him my dearest friend! Who never thought to receive anything from him but brotherly love!"

  "I cannot think," said Angelica. "I can hardly breathe."

  She could not bear to stay there any longer. Half-blind with tears, she left them all without a goodbye and stumbled back out into her carriage. Once inside, she hugged her knees to her chest, refusing to let the tears fall, and let the driver take her home.

  She wasn't certain whether she wanted to fall into Edward's arms and beg him to deny every word of it, or never to see him ever again. The confusion threatened to choke her.

  Suddenly, she felt like a mouse must feel in the instant before the trap snaps closed. She saw her doom approaching, and it was descending on her neck too quickly to escape.

  There was no question of her marrying Edward with these issues unresolved. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to speak to him. Not now. Not yet. To think of the degree to which she had begun to feel for him! Had she really allowed herself to fall for a man who was only pretending to care for her?

  She had to find some way of delaying the wedding. Her father would never agree, and she could never explain to him why. He was completely enthralled by the prospect of marrying his daughter to a Duke.

  She would have to find her own way to escape getting married until she had decided what to do.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Edward was not a man who often made promises. He could not abide the idea of breaking his word, and therefore was very careful when he gave it.

  He had made no mistake in promising Angelica that he intended to make her happy. From that point forwards, he meant to do everything in his power to please her.

  If you had asked him whether it was only a sense of honour or some other, deeper feeling, that caused this conviction, he would not have been able to give a complete answer. Edward was beginning to realise that, far from being a simple man of simple desires, he was more complicated than he had ever given himself credit for. His feelings for Angelica ran beyond his own knowledge of himself.

  The only thing he had to compare them to was his undying affection for Adelaide, but that was not an exact fit. Time and mourning had immortalised Adelaide in his mind as a perfect angel, incapable of wrongdoing. He knew, logically, that when she had been alive she had frustrated and tormented him as all siblings do, but he could not now bring himself to recall a single cross moment.

  Angelica, on the other hand, frustrated him at almost every turn. The girl had such a cursed unbreakable habit of speaking her mind!

  And yet, it was that very frankness which drew him towards her.

  Angelica had begun to occupy Edward's thoughts much more often than he cared to admit, even to himself. Sometimes it was her eyes, sparkling with mischief. Sometimes the pretty upturn of her nose. Sometimes the curious way her lips twisted when she was amused, or the way she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet in the throes of excitement, as though sheer joyful anticipation could make her grow.

  Sometimes it was the soft sound of her voice, low and tender, as she told him what lay in the depths of her heart. The voice she used to speak of her sister. The voice she had begun to use to him, when they were alone.

  He both longed to hear her whisper to him again and detested himself for longing for it. An infatuation with his future bride was not part of the plan. It would only get in the way of what he intended. How was he to resume his life of solitude in Redhaven Castle if he came home with a chatty wife and her si
ster in tow?

  All the same, the thought of Angelica's unhappiness filled Edward with dismay. He now understood that part of the role of a husband was to ensure his wife's contentment. He would begin without further delay.

  A ring was the thing. A symbol of his commitment to her, and a pretty, sparkling jewel to match Angelica's eyes besides. He pictured her excitement at watching his gemstone glitter on her finger. The way she would run to show Lily, or how she would dangle her hand casually from his open-topped carriage to ensure all of London was quite certain that she now wore his fine ring.

  Not that he thought Angelica vain – far from it. He simply had an unquenchable desire to see her as excited about their engagement as she was about everything else.

  It was this impulse that had propelled Edward to Ludgate Hill, the eastern end of Fleet Street, where he found the elegant columned storefront of Rundell and Bridge, jewellers to the crown.

  Edward could afford the very best in life. He had never before had a use for his vast wealth. Now, he had Angelica.

  "How may I help you, sir?" enquired the fussy-looking man behind the desk.

  Edward knew exactly what he wanted. "I am looking for an engagement ring. The finest you have. And I have a preference for emeralds." Angelica's eyes were a clear, lovely grey with just a hint of green when the light was low. He imagined her holding the emerald on her finger up to her face, gemstone and eyes both glittering with the same light.

  The array of rings the jeweller produced was rather bewildering. Edward had little to no concept of women's fashions or Angelica's taste in jewellery. Would she want a simple gold band with a single stone, or an extravagant curlicued band studded with diamonds?

  One ring spoke to him as seeming somehow uniquely Angelica. It was a simple gold band that split into prongs around a single, gleaming emerald, surrounded by a halo of tiny diamonds. It was neither too fussy nor too plain. It wore its expense lightly, yet made its taste clear. It was the ring of a woman with confidence, Edward thought.

  He had it placed into a silver box lined with mother-of-pearl and felt the weight of it in his pocket all the way down Fleet Street.

  Despite the burning weight of the ring, Edward made one stop along the way to the Stirling household.

  The graveyard was a different place in the sunshine. The flowers had all opened and the air hummed with the gentle buzz of bees. A delightful fresh scent rose up from the grass. Even the fir trees, which had seemed so dark and gloomy before, were transformed into beautiful old guardians encircling the graves in their leafy arms.

  Adelaide would have liked it. She had always loved nature.

  Perhaps he should not have let his parents bury her here in this anonymous London graveyard. Wouldn't she have preferred to lie in the intimate little churchyard in Redhaven? Or on a sunny patch of grass outside the family chapel?

  They had all been blinded by grief when she died. Edward felt that he was only now beginning to see things clearly once more.

  "Hello, Addy," he said. It was too warm to wear a coat and, not wanting to dirty his clothes before seeing Angelica, he stood by the gravestone and laid a brotherly hand upon it. When Adelaide was a small girl, he used to tease her by mussing up her hair, and she had been just such a height compared to him. "I have brought something to show you. I took your advice – well, I took the advice that I think you would have given me – and I have decided to put all my efforts towards making Angelica happy. Angelica is my fiancée, you see. I... I am sorry that I do not visit often, to give you my news." He suddenly felt a little awkward, standing in a graveyard and talking to a hump of grass. "But I suppose you must know already, don't you? You are always with me, Addy. Even when I wish you weren't."

  He bent down to trace his finger across the name on the gravestone. On impulse, he put his hand in his pocket and took out the ring box. He opened it towards the grave for inspection. "I hope she will like it, but I cannot be sure," he confessed, abashed. No reply came, but Edward felt comforted anyway. He stood straight again. "She will appreciate the gesture, in any case," he decided, and tapped the gravestone one last time for luck before walking back into London's bustle with firm, determined strides.

  Mr Stirling employed only the finest staff. He had the money for it, and no reason to be modest about it. So it was some surprise to Edward that he was left standing in front of an unanswered front door for as many as seven minutes.

  He rapped the knocker for what must have been the eleventh time. A household this large was surely never empty. All the same, not as much as a prickle of foreboding marred Edward's anticipation. His mind was entirely on Angelica, and his mood was bright.

  The door was answered by the butler, Hinchley, whose usually impenetrable expression was now a mask of distress.

  "Oh! Your Grace! Welcome, welcome! My apologies for the wait. I shall inform Mr Stirling of your arrival at once."

  "It is not Mr Stirling I am here to see, but Miss Angelica," said Edward, confused. On his last visit, Hinchley had shown him through to see Angelica in the drawing room without as much as a raised eyebrow. Why should the man assume he was now here for her father?

  "Beg pardon, Your Grace, but Mr Stirling will wish to speak with you urgently. Please, follow me."

  Edward let Hinchley usher him into a lushly-furnished anteroom. It was quiet, but not so quiet that he was unaware of the pattering of rushed feet somewhere in the house. Low, unhappy voices murmured past the closed door. Edward only managed to restrain himself from putting his ear to the keyhole by reminding himself of his position. A Duke did not stoop to eavesdropping.

  Mr Stirling appeared some moments later, in a state of great distress. His hair was wild, as though he had recently been running his hands through it, and his cravat was askew.

  "Something is the matter," said Edward, rising to his feet. "I apologise for calling at a difficult time, Mr Stirling. I will not trouble you further today."

  "Please, Your Grace," said Mr Stirling, showing him through into his study. "I desire to speak with you more than any other man, at present."

  Edward followed him in but, taking his host's lead, he did not sit down.

  Mr Stirling stood with his back to Edward, both fists clenched against the varnished surface of the desk. He took a deep, shuddering breath and turned around.

  "I am a reasonable man," he said, finally. "I am a businessman, as you know. I prefer negotiation to anger. I find that, when all parties sit down and hash things out together, it is rare that an accommodation cannot be reached. Therefore, you need not fear my wrath when you answer my question."

  "Your question?"

  "Where is my daughter?"

  "Angelica is missing?"

  The two men stared at each other for a moment in consternation. Mr Stirling was the first to crack. He wiped sweat from his forehead with a trembling hand.

  "You are too good to toy with me, Your Grace. Do you really mean to tell me that Angelica is not with you?"

  "I have not seen her since the day before yesterday. We met outside Gunter's Tea Shop."

  "Did you argue?"

  Edward recalled the strained tone of their conversation. "We had a discussion."

  "Did she give you any indication that she was unhappy?"

  Edward's jaw tightened. "I cannot share with you the particulars of our discussion. It was between Angelica and myself."

  "I am her father!" snapped Mr Stirling.

  "And I her betrothed."

  "Precisely. You are not married yet." Mr Stirling began to pace up and down in a torment. "Good gracious! A lovers' quarrel, and a runaway child! Where will it end? Where can she be?"

  "How long has she been missing?" Edward clamped a hand on Mr Stirling's shoulder and gave him a little shake, willing him to return to his senses. The man was clearly half mad with distress, and this was a situation which only cool calculation would serve. "I will send men to every corner of London inquiring after her."

  "Do you think I have not thou
ght of that myself?" asked Mr Stirling. "But the risk – the risk to her reputation, should anybody hear that she has run away! It is too much! At first, I thought she had gone to you, and I was at least content that in the end you would have to marry her. But now... now!"

  "Did she leave anything? A note?"

  Mr Stirling took up a single sheet of paper from his desk and pressed it into Edward's hands.

  My dearest Mama and Papa

  Please do not worry about me. I am afraid it has become impossible for me to stay in London any longer, but I have planned everything out and will be quite safe.

  I will see you again soon

  Your loving daughter,

  Angelica

  Mr Stirling wrung his hands and collapsed into an armchair. "She is ruined! My little girl! My Angelica! Why was she born such a headstrong wretch?"

  "Nobody is ruined yet," said Edward. Mr Stirling looked up at him, perplexed.

  "Do you mean to say that you still intend to marry her?"

  Edward felt the ring box weighing down his pocket. "I make no statement of intention as yet. Let us ascertain the facts. Where is her lady's maid?"

  "Gone!"

  "That is a blessing. It means she is not unescorted. She has not entirely lost her wits." Edward heard his voice, calm and controlled, as though it were coming from a long way away. Inside, his feelings were churning.

  Had Angelica truly run away? Had he caused her to run?

  Curse his coldness, curse his blindness, curse his pride!

  No, enough cursing. Edward was beginning to think it was he himself who was cursed. The very moment he began to feel something for his attractive young fiancée was the moment she chose to run away...

  "When was it discovered that she had run away?"

  "This morning. She bid us goodnight yesterday in the same mood as ever. There was no indication – no clue –"

  "Then she has been gone less than a day. What were her movements yesterday? Something must have happened." Edward was holding out hope that there was any possible explanation for Angelica's flight other than his own unpersonable nature.