The Duke in Denial (Scandal in Sussex Book 1)

by Alexandra Ainsworth

  William groaned. He didn’t have time for this. Lewis still seemed to adore Dorothea. Didn’t the man care she was getting married tomorrow? Or did he have no idea? What of his own family? Lewis’s father had died while mourning his son. Heat flushed through William’s body. “Why would you allow everyone to think you had died?”

  “I didn’t intend to.” Lewis’s eyes grew distant.

  William crossed his arms, tapping his foot against the chalky soil of the cave. The light dimmed, the shadows melding together. “That sort of stuff doesn’t just happen.”

  Lewis sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I can’t tell you everything. Some of it is classified.”

  “Don’t forget I’m Dorothea’s brother and only male relation. The reason better be good.”

  Lewis assessed him. For a moment, William thought the other man might simply leave. But then he spoke, and William hoped all would be revealed.

  “The British government was suspicious of Sir Ambrose.”

  “And you worked for the British government?”

  “Work for them.” Lewis emphasized the present tense.

  “How did you start?”

  Lewis shrugged. “Oxford. My studies came easily to me. I’m athletic. They found me. It sounded exciting. I liked that.”

  William nodded. The explanation sounded so banal, so ridiculously truthful. Oxford seemed just the place for the government to pick up a group of bored, well-placed potential spies.

  “Sir Ambrose moved here last year.”

  “So they placed you on the case.”

  Lewis nodded. “The home office couldn’t believe their good fortune. I couldn’t believe my fortune—he’s a powerful man, finding something against him would have meant a promotion. I had just gotten engaged; everything seemed to be going well.”

  “Even though nobody knew what you did in your spare time?”

  “What can I say? I adore my country.” Lewis smiled, but his eyes had grown fiery.

  Penelope’s adventurousness and patriotism seemed to be a family trait.

  “What happened?”

  “I invited him to Somerset Hall; he invited me to Ashbury Castle. I even took Dorothea once.”

  “And then what?”

  “I thought I came close to finding some information on him, but one night I was set upon when I was exploring the border near Ashbury Castle, and when I awoke, I had been badly beaten. Sir Ambrose’s men. I was sure.”

  “Somebody from the home office investigated with me. He managed to get help, and the home office decided to announce I had joined the battle in France and died there. Since Sir Ambrose and I were neighbors, they thought it safer. It wasn’t supposed to last long, and I was unconscious when they made the decision. People are declared dead all the time there and then discovered to be alive. A general, who works with them, agreed to identify my body as dead.”

  Lewis’s eyes looked mournful, and for a moment, William allowed himself to feel sorry for his almost brother-in-law. He understood things not going to plan. The duke was living in a cave, likely not the sort of adventure he had dreamed of.

  “But they haven’t been able to find anything on the baronet?” William asked, his tone gentle.

  Lewis shook his head.

  “I’ve been doing my own work. If I catch Sir Ambrose myself, I can announce my presence sooner.”

  “You’ll need to do that sooner anyway,” William responded. “Dorothea is getting married tomorrow morning.”

  Lewis jerked his head back, stunned. Then he smiled, “Surely you jest. I know of her betrothal, but I thought the wedding was to be in May.”

  “They decided to push the wedding forward.” William smiled bitterly. Engagements were rarely moved forward unless in the case of a rush of passion or lack of money for the planning. Women seemed to find too much delight in planning the wedding to change the date without reason. A lack of money was impossible, and William shuddered at the thought that passion drove the wedding date forward. More likely it had been Sebastian’s disgust at the night they spent together.

  The waves crashed below, their sound intensifying. The tide must be coming in, enveloping the bay with its mighty thrusts.

  “Unless we want to spend the night in the cave, we will need to leave now,” William said.

  *

  The noises started in the morning. Sebastian had awakened to the scraping of heavy furniture being moved around the rooms below. He hoped the hardwood floors would survive. It was useless for the furniture to resist the upcoming wedding and the preparations Dorothea and Penelope had made. Sebastian rather empathized with their plight, shuddering at the thuds drifting up from downstairs, now replaced by the sounds of the arriving guests.

  Soft footsteps sounded from the room adjacent. Grayson.

  Sebastian wrapped a silk robe around his body. The smooth texture could not protect him from the increased rate of his pounding heart. He should have recognized it long ago: he was not normal, he would not ever be normal. Joys that filled other men with delight, the upcoming marriage to a beautiful, accomplished woman, served only to torment him.

  Grayson came to help him dress. Heat rushed to his cheeks as the man helped him put on his boots, remembering William removing them.

  Sebastian straightened his cravat, examining his appearance in the looking glass.

  He trudged down the stairs, running his fingers along the polished oak banister. Garlands of lilacs hanging from the high ceiling transformed the receiving rooms. Overflowing vases decorated every flat surface. The wedding would be tomorrow morning, but Penelope had invited the braver members of the ton, whose manor homes were in Sussex or who simply wanted an escape from London, to Somerset Hall. Servants, villagers who had returned, scattered about, humming with activity.

  Was it fair to marry Dorothea? Did she not deserve someone who would make her happy? Might he ever make her happy?

  Sebastian weaved through the crowd. His eyes returned to the door frequently. Would William arrive?

  Penelope and Dorothea had arranged a drink table on one side of the room. The area was constantly replenished, with timid men and women approaching and more confident people exiting. Having something in one’s hand was in itself gratifying. They waved their glasses through the room with the enthusiasm of medieval knights waving swords at a jousting match, the liquids sloshing inside.

  Sebastian sighed as the laughter crescendoed. It would be a long night.

  The local musicians attacked their instruments with glee, pounding on the piano and swinging their violin bows as they played. No doubt they were delighted at the opportunity to play for a duke, and to succeed at being memorable.

  “Sebastian!” A strong alto voice beckoned.

  Sebastian turned to see a familiar figure wrapped in vivid silk and velvet. A ruby necklace dangled over her chest.

  “Aunt Beatrice!I am delighted to see you.” And he was. Some familiarity, regardless of the eccentricities, was much desired.

  “So your dream is coming true. You are to be married again.” His aunt clasped his hands in hers, jeweled rings pressing into his skin.

  “Indeed.” Sebastian smiled tightly. “Your matchmaking skills have once more triumphed.”

  His aunt shrugged. “You desired it. You needn’t have gotten remarried otherwise.”

  “Society would have wanted me to get married sooner or later.”

  “You need not fulfill everything society demands. Few people meet its demands, and the ton knows it.”

  The words, said so casually, hit Sebastian like one of the medieval weapons he had seen at Ashbury Castle. His chest ached. The wedding, the marriage, it had all been his doing. He had craved normalcy. He had wanted to exorcise his sins with Henrietta. He had wanted a new start with Dorothea, a new estate and a new title.

  He had hidden his inclinations before meeting William. Boxed them up and shrouded them in a white cloth. But his heart would not be packed away like a piece of furniture avoiding
dust.

  He could have avoided it all. If only he had not told his aunt he wanted to find a wife. Then, when he had met William in Grosvenor Square, something more might have happened between them.

  And now he was marrying the man’s sister. He could never be with him again. He would be devoted to a woman he could never love, striving to be a husband he could never be.

  Aunt Beatrice looked at him strangely. “How pale you have gotten.”

  He shivered under her assessing gaze and averted his eyes, forcing a laugh. “Like the rumored ghost who haunts this area no doubt. Simply assimilating.”

  “Well,” his aunt said, her eyes moving about the room, “you have done a very good job reinvigorating this place. You are quite suited to being a duke.”

  “Thank you.” And he was happy and grateful she noticed all the changes. He had proved he might find success as a duke. But the triumph that he had dreamed of felt hollow. This was not enough. This was not what his body craved, waking him up with its yearnings in the middle of the night. This was not what his soul demanded.

  He needed William. He should have chosen William. To have been so fortunate to have met a like-minded person, to have been so fortunate for that person to be as wonderful as William . . . He had thrown it all away, casting it off in the same manner Sir Ambrose dismissed his servants. His knees trembled.

  Where is William?

  He looked around, seeing no sign of him. He longed to view the buttoned red coat of the captain. Instead he was confronted with women’s gowns swishing about him.

  Why would William want to attend? Sebastian excused himself from his aunt, walking quickly about the room, searching the nooks and crannies for William’s imposing figure.

  He confirmed William’s absence, though he had startled a few unlikely couples. He caught Lady Burgess embracing a swarthy foreigner. Sebastian’s heart panged for the viscount, who always spoke highly of his wife. And Colonel March definitely was not supposed to be in a relationship with the Baroness of Brambury: her husband and his wife would disapprove. Yet his arms had distinctly been around her, scarcely covered by the velvet curtain that shielded them.

  His Aunt Beatrice was correct: the ton had their own sins to worry about. His sin was not something that could be shared, but perhaps they might forgive him had he determined not to remarry.

  “Enjoying the festivities?” Dorothea nudged his elbow. He had not noticed her arrival. She smoothed her hair, tucking a dark ringlet under her ear.

  “Indeed.” He nodded, his eyes fixed on the large paneled door that separated the ballroom from the hall.

  The door opened; his heart jumped, consumed with the desire for William to appear.

  Instead, Crowley walked through, and Sebastian struggled to keep his shoulders from slouching.

  “Do you think he has a note about William? He’s late.”

  Dorothea gripped his arm more tightly, sliding her lace-gloved hand over his elbow. She must also be concerned about her brother. “Crowley has all manners of business to attend to tonight. I would not worry about William. He tends to be most independent.”

  “But shouldn’t we worry?” Sebastian looked at the mahogany grandfather clock in the ballroom. It was eight o’clock, and William would be taking his horse out in the dark. He closed his eyes, imagining all the rabbit holes and tree roots on which the horse might maim itself, the jagged rocks William might be thrown onto. Not to speak of the cliffs themselves.

  What if the horse takes it into its mind to gallop off the cliff? A horse could be startled, and who knew what creatures roamed the dark.

  “Sebastian?” Dorothea shook his arm and bit her lip. “Perhaps we should dance now.”

  Sebastian gazed down at Dorothea. Her eyes had grown larger, and her eyelashes fluttered. Her cheeks were pink. He ran his eyes down her ivory dress. The top curve of her bosom showed, and Sebastian had spied other men eyeing the pert area with interest. Strands of her dark curly hair fluttered on either side of her face; she wore the rest in a dramatic chignon.

  She was beautiful. Spectacularly beautiful. She was not for him.

  Somebody else would appreciate her. Marrying her would not redeem his experience with Henrietta, it would repeat it. Dorothea did not deserve that. And William did not deserve to see the marriage happen. William had always been good and kind to him.

  “We should speak,” he said, turning to his fiancée.

  “This is hardly the time.” Her brows furrowed.

  Shame flowed through him. No, this was not the time. Perhaps there never had been an appropriate time. But tomorrow they would be wed, and they needed to speak before then. He took her elbow and walked her toward the French doors.

  She squealed, and he hushed her. A man winked as he saw Sebastian usher Dorothea outside, past startled onlookers.

  They must look very romantic.

  Crisp air accosted them. The wind blasted from the coast.

  Dorothea stomped her foot. “Take me back in.”

  “No.”

  “No?” Dorothea looked at him, confused.

  “No.” A wave of emotion rushed over Sebastian. He should have said that word long ago rather than going along with everyone. “We need to talk.”

  Dorothea frowned. “We must not neglect our guests. We can talk after the wedding.”

  “There will be no wedding.” There. His life would be different now. Perhaps not improved, but Dorothea would be free. Relief rushed through him.

  His former fiancée did not look pleased. Her eyes widened and then darkened. “We most certainly will marry.”

  But they wouldn’t. Sebastian’s mind was made up. They were silent. The murmurs of a quadrille being played sounded through the French doors, accompanied by sounds of laughter; in the garden, an owl hooted.

  “Is this about my brother?”

  Sebastian’s mind raced, wondering why she had brought her brother up. Did she know about the night in the gatehouse? Perhaps she had been the intruder William had followed.

  “I—I wasn’t expecting a love match,” Dorothea continued. “I hope you know that. You don’t have to be everything to me. You simply have to be my husband.” She glanced down. “If, of course, you’ll still have me.”

  His chest tightened. “I don’t deserve you, Dorothea. I cannot make you happy.”

  “I don’t expect to be happy. I’m not naive. Not after Lewis’s death.”

  “He would have made you happy.”

  “But he’s not alive.” Dorothea sat on a bench, burying her face in her hands. She looked fragile underneath the moon’s modest light.

  “You deserve someone better than me.”

  She flinched at his words. “You could still see him, you know.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” His voice sounded strange, even to him. He hoped she was not suggesting what he thought.

  “I would make you a good wife. And I would not expect you to be faithful.”

  Had she just suggested he be unfaithful? Sebastian shuddered, considering all the times he had already betrayed Dorothea in his thoughts and deeds. He could not continue to do that, no matter what Dorothea thought. His honor forbade him from sentencing her to a marriage of simple convenience. “But you should expect that.”

  “I suppose you will not reconsider?” Dorothea’s voice quivered.

  “No.” He sighed. “But I promise you, I will provide for you. If Lewis had only lived long enough to see his wedding, all of this would have been yours. You can continue to have the townhouse in London and I shall give you an allowance.”

  Dorothea nodded. “That is very generous.”

  The voices from the ballroom continued to rise. The upbeat tones of a country dance started inside. His stomach sank at what he now needed to do. “I will make an announcement.”

  Dorothea shook her head. “Tomorrow, please. Let’s let them have their night.” She stood up and headed toward the ballroom.

  Sebastian wondered if she also referred to herself.
He could not make everyone content; he should have learned it long ago.

  He needed to find William. He did not know if the man would still have him, but he needed to find out. Energy rushed through him; it was time for him to be in control of his own fate for once.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Lewis and William stood on top of the cliff. Mud stained William’s clothes and boots. Somewhere between the cave and the exit, his shirt had torn. He could not make a late arrival at the party in his current state.

  Lewis had other worries. He shouted, “Married? Tomorrow morning?”

  “That’s what I told you. At least five times before.” William inhaled, relieved to be out of the damp cave. They had escaped just in time. Any longer and they would have needed to swim. Which Lewis claimed was really no problem, but William had swum in India and had confirmed that the water in England, even Southern England, was far too cold.

  Lewis’s eyes darted back and forth. “We must do something.”

  “Are you planning on barging into the ballroom? You’ll scare everyone to death. Your mother will be there. You don’t want her to think you’re the ghost who has been haunting everyone.”

  “People thought I was a ghost anyway.” Lewis settled down onto the grass and crossed his arms. “What’s the plan?”

  “The plan is—” William stopped. He should have attended the ball. His sister would be furious. Well, perhaps she would forgive him now he had found Lewis—if she forgave Lewis. “How do you think my sister will take your appearance?”

  Outrage burst upon Lewis’s face. “You mean she would prefer to marry a widower from Yorkshire, usurping my role?”

  William bolted up. “You must not talk about him in such a manner. Sebastian has done a wonderful job with the estate.”

  “No offense meant.” Lewis’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t realize you were on a first-name basis with him.”

  “We spent time together,” William mumbled, cursing to himself. The man suspected something. Well, he was correct to do so.

  “Oh?” Lewis shrugged. “I didn’t know. I went to Eton.”