My Duke Until Dawn (The Duke's Secret, #6)

by Devon, Eva

  “Please do not say unfortunate,” he protested. “I think that is the most wonderful thing. I pray every day that my son will not be like me.”

  “Rafe is a very good man,” she pointed out, wishing they could see how good they both were.

  “Yes,” the duke said, “he is. And I’m glad you see it in him. So many just think that he is a careless man, but he’s a soldier and a man of true heart.”

  “I know that,” she said. “I see it in him every day. I think I saw it from the very first moment I met him.”

  The duke’s face softened. “You love him, don’t you?”

  Her heart swelled. “Indeed, I do, Your Grace, and there is no escaping it.”

  “Then, I give you my deepest sympathies, my dear, for you are marrying into a most interesting family.”

  “What is life without a little bit of interest to it?” she declared, unwilling to be daunted.

  He let out a deep laugh. “Again, you do amuse me, my dear, something that is not easy, and I have so little company that it shall be nice to get to know you.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way, Your Grace.”

  “So you’ll marry him, then? Despite all the risk, despite all the chances?”

  “I will,” she said.

  “I think you are perfect for this family, my dear,” he said, his voice rough with surprising emotion. “Welcome to it, and I hope to see you again very soon. I’m tired now. You may go.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said with a quick curtsy.

  “Wait,” he called suddenly.

  “Your Grace?” she queried.

  He paused then lifted his arms. “Come here and give an old man a quick embrace.”

  She crossed the room to him and was amazed to find that for a man who spent so much time indoors, he was quite strong and rather large. He slipped his arms about her, pressed her closely, and gave her a quick kiss upon her cheek.

  “Bless you and welcome,” he said kindly. “I wish I could promise that everything would go well, but no matter what, if my son is marrying you, he will always take care of you and do the best that he can by you.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Tears stung her eyes as her heart felt overfull. “And I, by him.”

  He nodded. “Now go, my dear.”

  And with that, Penelope turned and hurried out into the hall, knowing that no matter what happened, she would be by Rafe’s side. And together? Together, they could manage anything.

  Chapter 22

  “I don’t care if he is a duke. I want to see my daughter.”

  She stopped buttering her toast at the sound of her father’s bellowing from the foyer.

  Given the thickness of the wall and that the castle was an enormous one, she was stunned that she had heard her father speaking, but she had.

  Penelope grimaced.

  Oh, dear.

  This was going to be quite the morning, indeed, if she could hear her father at such an hour.

  What the devil was he doing here? And how the devil had he found her? She placed her butter knife down and smiled tentatively at her soon-to-be-mother-in-law.

  “Someone you know, my dear?” the duchess drawled.

  “Yes, I do presume it is my father.”

  “Then, you best go and get him.” The duchess hesitated then said softly, “He seems as if he’s about to cause a scene. We are, of course, used to some scenes here, but. . .”

  Her soon-to-be-mother-in-law smiled tightly, and then she winked. Winked, by God. “It’s all right, my dear. He must be very distressed. Did you not tell him you were coming here?”

  Penelope swallowed. “No, I confess I did not. Rafe and I left in such a hurry, and I did not wish to worry him.”

  The duchess shooed her towards the door with a wave of her hand. “You best go assure him that all will be well.”

  She darted up from the breakfast table and rushed out into the hall. Her feet clattered on the marble, and the moment he spotted her, her father’s face softened with relief.

  “My dear, you’re here,” he said.

  “Yes, Father, I am here,” she assured. “You needn’t worry so.”

  “Needn’t worry?” he cried out.

  At this, the butler stepped aside. “Your father, madam?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do forgive me, madam,” the butler said with quiet dignity, “for treating him with such resistance, but we do not generally allow strangers into the castle.”

  “I understand, I understand,” she said quickly. “Please do not worry about it. Soon you shall see my father here all of the time, and you will grow quite used to him, and he is not usually so boisterous.”

  “No,” her father agreed his silver hair wild and his clothes rumpled from traveling, “but I’m not generally used to finding out that my daughter has gone off to some castle without any warning to anyone.”

  “That’s not true,” she protested. “I did tell Persephone.”

  “Exactly, and Persephone told me,” he exclaimed. “She said that you had a meeting with the Duke of Royland and then were suddenly gone, and that you had been feeling quite not yourself for days.”

  Penelope swallowed.

  Well, there was to be no avoiding it.

  She was going to have to tell her father.

  Rather difficult that, but there it was.

  “Yes, Papa,” she whispered. “Now, please come in, and don’t cause any more scenes.”

  “Then, would you kindly take me somewhere and explain what is happening?” her father intoned.

  She nodded and clasped his hand. “Come, Papa.”

  She guided him to one of the small rooms on the side of the large foyer. It was a snug study, and it was probably one of the most comfortable rooms in the castle. She had only been there a day, but Rafe had shown her quite about.

  Her father nodded, dumbfounded, and then he spotted the duchess in the breakfast room doorway. “Who the devil is that?”

  “That is to be my future mother-in-law,” Penelope groaned.

  “Mother-in-law?” he echoed, fairly stupefied.

  “May I be so bold as to ask your name?” the duchess asked.

  “Yes, madam,” her father said, stunned. “I am Mr. Finley.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Finley?” The duchess inclined her head. “I am the Duchess of Royland.”

  Her father gaped. “The Duchess of. . .”

  Then the Duchess cleared her throat. “I do beg your pardon. Your daughter is to become the Duchess of Royland. She is quite a wonderful young woman, and I can only attribute that to the fact that you must have raised her very well, indeed. So, we shall forget your outburst this morning because it was warranted. You were quite worried about her, were you not?”

  “Indeed, I was,” he said with no attempt to hide his emotions. “She is the jewel of my life, and I should hate to think that anything had happened to her. You see, I give her a great deal of freedom, and I don’t usually worry about her, but when I received that missive from her cousin. . .”

  “Understood, understood, Mr. Finley,” the duchess said kindly. “We do love our children and want the best for them.”

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  “Now, go ahead and speak with your daughter. She will tell you everything, and I shall send in some sustenance.” The duchess folded her hands. “I’m sure you must be very hungry from your long trip.”

  “Most kind of you, Your Grace,” he said, but her father was looking quite odd because, in general, he did not care for the nobility.

  He had many friends who were aristocrats, but secretly he was a Republican. He quite thought that the Americans were doing a very good job over the pond, and that was against everything that most English people believed.

  After all, most of the English were still quite annoyed that the colonies had managed to secure independence, and they had given France quite a wary eye as it had immersed itself in a bloodbath, which it had resulted in the despot and tyrant Napoleon.r />
  She squired her father into the small study, taking him past several dark leather couches.

  “Do sit down, Papa,” she said.

  The fire beckoned, and her father sat looking quite dumbfounded.

  It was a surprisingly chill morning, but then it was the north of the country.

  “Dearest Penelope,” he said. “I am flummoxed.”

  “I can see that, Papa,” she soothed, realizing her own insensitivity as she sat beside him. “Forgive me. It wasn’t my intention to worry you. I did not wish to bother you with anything more troublesome than the cares you’ve had.”

  “Bother me?” he repeated, as a look of horror crossed his features. “How terrible of me to make you feel thus. My God, my dear girl. Please forgive me for going away and licking my own wounds.”

  “Papa,” she insisted, hating to see his pain. “You tried to help a friend, and then it ended badly. Of course you wished to go and lick your wounds.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, his voice deep with self-derision. “But that’s no excuse for not taking proper care of my daughter. I see that now. I’ve so long trusted your independence that I gave way to it and did not think anything but to be selfish.”

  “Papa, you are not selfish at all,” she exclaimed. “You are one of the most generous people I know.”

  His face flushed with embarrassment. It was his generosity that had put them all in such trouble. “But I have thought only of myself in this last month or so.”

  “That is not true,” she countered, refusing to allow him to be so cruel even to himself. “You were secure in the knowledge that I was with Persephone, or that I was in the company of the Duke of Drake and his friends. All reputable, all very good people. How many parents would be delighted to send their child off into such care? And I am not a child,” she added. “I have been a young, determined woman for some time.”

  “Yes,” he admitted. But then his face grew worried again and, simultaneously, full of understanding. “A young woman who is about to be married?” he questioned.

  “Yes, Papa, that is correct,” she informed happily, wishing to tell all and sundry now. “The Duke of Royland has asked me to marry him. Rafe is the most wonderful man, Papa. You will really quite like him.”

  “Rafe,” he echoed, dumbfounded once again. “How long have you two known each other, weeks?”

  “Yes, Papa, weeks,” she confirmed. “I met him almost immediately when I came to London.”

  “And you love him?” her father questioned, clearly wishing to understand all the pieces to this particular puzzle. “I can believe such a thing because, as you know, your mother and I fell just as quickly.”

  She placed her hand atop her father’s. “I know how much you two loved each other.”

  “And we both knew each other as little as you two seem to,” he said, his gaze full of memories, “before we married, and we were quite happy together.”

  “Exactly,” she said, giving a nod of her head to punctuate the perfection of the arrangement. “So you must wish me as much happiness.”

  “I would only ever wish you happiness, my dear, but it still does give me pause.” He folded his hand about hers and edged closer towards her. “I don’t wish to see you accidentally marry someone who might make you very unhappy, and dukes can be absolute disasters.”

  She laughed at that. “So they can, but I quite like this one.”

  He studied her face for a long moment then said, “If you say so, I give you joy.”

  “I’m so glad, Papa, that you are so easily swayed,” she teased before she leaned forward and flung herself into his arms.

  “You have good judgment, my dear,” he said, holding her close. “I have always believed that, but still, I worry about you. Do you truly wish to be a duchess and all that it entails?”

  “It was not my intention, I confess,” she said against his tweed-covered shoulder. “Mostly, I just truly enjoyed Rafe and his company, but you see. . .”

  He leaned back and looked down at her then, really truly looked.

  “My dear,” he said softly. “You have that strange look about you in which you are glowing and look simultaneously slightly green. You’re with child, aren’t you?”

  “How do you know?” she breathed. “It’s not as if I have it written upon my forehead.”

  “Some of us do know the signs, and one is sudden declaration of marriage.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Don’t you think we could have just absolutely adored each other and wished to have done with it?”

  “Yes, of course,” he pointed out. “That’s quite possible, but this was different. If that had been the case, you simply would have gone and gotten a special license and married and announced it promptly. This seems different.”

  “It is different,” she admitted, wishing she did not have to hide anything from him. “There is a great secret here, Papa, but I cannot share it with you. For it is not mine to tell.”

  Her father barely showed any reaction. Instead, he solemnly asked, “Should I be worried?”

  “No,” she assured quickly. “I promise you that.”

  “I see,” he said.

  “Thank you, Papa. I’m glad that you understand. I know that you know the vagaries of life and how some people might suffer from them.”

  “Rafe is suffering?” he inquired with surprising calm.

  “No,” she started, but then she had to stop because that wasn’t the truth. “He does suffer, but he is not truly the secret. He is merely the keeper of it.”

  “My dear.” Her father’s brow furrowed under his silver hair. “I only wish you to be happy.”

  “I am going to be happy, very happy because Rafe makes me so.”

  “If that is the case. . .”

  And with that, there was a light knock on the door, and a footman came in bearing a tray with tea, scones, toast, and beautiful bread with slices of ham.

  The green-liveried footman set it down easily and left just as quickly and as quietly as he’d come.

  As if they hadn’t been disturbed, her father professed, “I’ve missed you very much, my dear.”

  “And I you, Papa,” she said as she gathered some things for her father to eat.

  As she poured out the tea, her father followed her to the small table and hugged her gently.

  “My dearest,” his voice hitched. “Can you ever forgive me for putting you in this position?”

  “Forgive you?” she asked, pausing in her work. “But Papa, I should thank you.”

  “Thank me?” he echoed, disbelieving.

  She placed the teacup down and faced him fully. “If you had not invested in your friend who misused you so poorly, I never should have met the Duke of Drake, Persephone never should have married the man that she loves, and I never would be marrying Rafe, because I never would have met him. I would have contentedly stayed at our house in the country and never been introduced to these sorts of people.”

  She hugged him back and insisted, “Papa, it was your misfortune that has caused me so much joy.”

  He shook his head as if he couldn’t take it in, but then joy seemed to spread all over his entire body, eradicating the sorrow that had weighed him down.

  “Penelope, the things you teach me.” He drew in a proud breath. “All the books that I have read, all the studies, all the things about the various prophets over time, the various views of life, they’ve all said the same thing. It is impossible to tell good luck from bad luck in events. And it seems as if that which I thought had ruined everything and that which I felt so horrifically guilty over has caused a great deal of joy.”

  “It has,” she confirmed easily. “And now you can be free of guilt too, for you are to have a grandchild. Won’t that be marvelous?”

  Her father suddenly grinned. “Indeed, it will. I quite love children.”

  “I know you do, Papa, and you shall be marvelous.” She continued to pour out the tea and said casually, “Perhaps you can move cl
oser to here.”

  “Do you think that’d be wise?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, as she handed him his tea. “Because I think that there’s someone who could use your friendship.”

  Chapter 23

  Rafe stalked up and down the battlements.

  It was a habit of his since early childhood. Once his father had allowed him to go up into the ramparts of the castle, he spent a great deal of time up there, gazing out over the land.

  It was such a beautiful, harsh landscape. He adored it so. He envisioned the battles that had taken place just over the horizon, the armies that had mustered, the various political upheavals and rivalries that had occurred long since the War of the Roses, and he thought of the white and the red rose, the Lancasters versus the Yorks.

  Oh, what greatness had occurred in this place.

  It was such a remarkable thing to consider that after hundreds and hundreds of years, the castle was still there, larger and more powerful than before, and that England was in relative peace.

  They didn’t fear an invasion of the French, not really.

  And it was astounding to think that their country had become so powerful with such influence over the world that the idea of a rebellion within its borders now seemed absurd.

  Things could be solved through politics, and not through war in their country, and he was relieved.

  But still, in his own family, it did seem that there would be some strife. No, if he allowed himself to believe that not to be true, then he could allow it not to be true.

  Penelope had assured him that she was happy to be there and to soon be married to him. He still struggled to believe it.

  It was like a dark pit in his stomach. He did not know how he was going to let it go. For he could not let go of the apprehension that, one day, he would wake up and not wish to leave the castle. Just like his father had.

  Would he and his father end up like two mad old men doddering about the place with their wives taking care of them?

  It was horrific, that thought.