The Perfect Duke

by Ireland, Dawn

  Her self-proclaimed grandmother adjusted the tie on her old-fashioned bonnet. She wore black, lace gloves that Cara remembered from their brief encounters as a child. No matter the time of day, she’d refused to remove her hand covering.

  “You never guessed?” The old woman “tsk’d” then laced her fingers together in her lap. “Truly a naïve child. The vicar should never have filled your head with such fancies—no room for reality.”

  “Did Mother send you?”

  “Your mother?” The old woman cackled, a dry rasping sound that scratched its way up Cara’s spine. “Her carriage won’t be by for hours yet.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You never have.” Mr. Russell’s smug voice had an edge she’d not heard before. “Poor little Cara. If only your father had agreed to your marriage.”

  “Someone wanted to marry me?” Surely Papa would have told her.

  “I did.” His lip curled, giving his face an evil cast that made Cara press back into the seat.

  Mr. Russell had asked for her hand? None of this made any sense.

  “You’re mine.” Mr. Russell’s hands closed into fists. “You’ve always been mine. But the old fool wanted to let you choose your husband, then he allowed you to go traipsing off to Belcraven.”

  “Papa’s not a fool! How dare you malign a man who’s been so good to you? He was right to say no.”

  “Was he? I retrieved you from Belcraven once, this time it’ll be for keeps. When I get done with you—”

  The old woman placed her hand on Russell’s knee. “Now, sir, that’s not what we agreed.” She tugged at one silver curl until it escaped her hat and bobbed in front of her ear, then proceeded to do the same with the other side. Her voice had lost its harshness and became almost kind. "We must follow our plan you know.” She patted his knee and gave him a sickly, sweet smile that deepened the lines on her face. “No sense making the same mistake twice.”

  “What do you mean, you retrieved me once before?” Cara’s limbs felt chilled and her fingers curled in the folds of the velvet seat.

  “Did you really believe Farley had the brains to kidnap the children? I knew harming your little brats would get you back fast enough.”

  “How dare you!” Cara flew at him, her nails reaching for his face. Every bit of her energy was bent on destroying the man in front of her. She managed to knock him to the side, etching a deep red gash with her nail across his left cheek.

  “You bitch.” He grabbed her wrists, using unexpected wiry strength to force her back lengthwise on her seat. His putrid breath fanned her face and he used his body to press her against the cushion. “Think you’re too good for me? I watched you grow up. I gave you your life with the vicar. Addled old man didn’t even recognize me when I showed up at his church the following Sunday.”

  She turned her head as blood dripped from his wound onto her temple.

  “I gave him his greatest gift. I’ve waited all these years. You’re mine.”

  “Enough.” The sharp edge was back in the old woman’s voice. “Get off of her.”

  His weight eased up and he returned to his seat, allowing her to breathe, but every part of her body ached. She drew herself up by the strap near the door, then huddled into the corner, her body shaking. With her arms crossed over her chest, she glared at him.

  He’d put her children through unspeakable things to get to her. If only she’d recognized him for what he was. Guilt and fear vied for supremacy, but fear triumphed. The expression on her old friend’s face told her what he intended.

  Perhaps she should hurl herself out of the carriage. She might not live, but it would be better than the alternative.

  Her grandmother caught her glance at the door. “I don’t think you want to do that, child. It would be such a messy way to die. Believe me, I’ve contemplated all of them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why, when my father married me to Lord Pemberton, I found myself wanting to die. At first it was because the Duke of Kendal had betrayed me. Fool that I was I loved him. I’d given myself to him because we were to marry”—her voice became hard, bitter—“but he found a woman with greater power and privilege.” She smiled and the light in the old woman’s eyes brought Cara’s hand to her throat.

  “My father was furious. He’d heard the tales about Lord Pemberton, but that didn’t matter. He decided marrying me off to the man would teach me a lesson. My new husband and I came to an agreement.” She removed a glove, tugging at each fingertip with her mouth, revealing a mangled and reddened hand. The fingers could no longer straighten. She held out the cupped monstrosity to Cara. “You see, he agreed to only punish my lack of perfection. Unfortunately, he never considered my hands to be lady white.”

  Horror filled Cara. She felt as if she’d entered some kind of nightmare.

  Her grandmother struggled to replace the glove. “I was fortunate really. He found most of my body parts pleasing.”

  “My grandfather did that?” Cara’s voice croaked.

  “It was my punishment. Don’t you see?” She acted as if she were explaining something to a child. “And he gave me my boys. I needed to be grateful.”

  Her grandmother was unbalanced. Cara shrank back into the seat. At least now she knew the source of the hatred between the two families. No doubt Garret’s grandfather had thrown her grandmother over for a better match. Love would never have mattered to him. But the bitter, twisted woman he’d created scared her.

  “My second son never understood. The Kendal’s aren’t to be trusted.” Her grandmother reached across and patted her knee. Cara wanted to feel sympathy for her, but she shivered at the woman’s touch. “I couldn’t let a Kendal have you, but what was I to do?” She smiled at Mr. Russell. “This young man came up with the solution. He’d been working for us and offered to do me this service. He’s been a great help over the years.”

  Cara glared at Mr. Russell. “You’ve been working for her?”

  “Of course. How else was I to afford my lifestyle? Certainly not by helping all the poor parishioners. Lady Pemberton has been very generous and I in turn supplied her with information concerning her granddaughter.” His brows lowered. “But now the Duke of Kendal has ruined it all.”

  The old woman sighed. “I knew Kendal would never marry you. However, I had hoped you might return without learning of your identity, but that fool woman my son married had to meddle, now I have no choice.” Her claw like hand reached over and took Cara’s. “It won’t be so bad. You’ll never have to suffer the indignities of a man you hate.”

  “What won’t be so bad?”

  “I’m sure I told you. It’s the only solution.” Confusion crossed her grandmother’s face. “Everyone thinks you’re already there.”

  “Where?”

  “Why dead, of course. Then everything will be as it was before.” Her grandmother sat back against the cushions and smoothed her skirt, then turned to Mr. Russell. “Young man, did you bring what I asked?”

  The triumphant smile on Russell’s face warned Cara that whatever he’d brought, she wasn’t going to like it. He slid a thin green bottle and a rag from his coat. With all the finesse of a footman serving wine, he twisted the cork from the bottle and doused the material. The cloying smell of Laudanum filled the air, making Cara ill.

  He inched forward, like a spider descending on its helpless victim. She wedged herself into the corner, but he loomed over her. “Don’t think you’ll ever escape me.” It was a whisper, almost like that of a lover, before he pressed the wet rag over her nose.

  Cara stiffened and attempted to buck him off, but his weight held her in place. She struggled to maintain consciousness, but the last thing she heard was her grandmother’s gentle voice.

  “Don’t fret, dear. I’m going to return you to the family tomb.”

  Sometimes you have to risk all if you are going to win your “Happily Ever After.”

  Prince Charming/ Sleeping Beauty

 
Chapter 19

  Garret strode through the ballroom. Damn, where had Mallory gotten off to now? The press of the crowd brought him almost to a standstill. If he didn’t keep an eye on his sister, no telling what she might contrive.

  The crystal chandeliers glittered in the flickering candlelight, allowing him a clear view of the guests gathered at the foot of the stairs. Lord Stanton must have spent a fortune in candles, but Garret suspected the earl wouldn’t care as long as it was for ‘his Regina.’ A knot developed in his stomach. After their wedding she would be ‘his Regina.’

  “Your grandfather would be proud of you.”

  Garret stiffened as Lord Ellington’s comment reached him over the drone of voices in the great ballroom. The lord raised a brow at him expectantly from a few feet away, his elaborate snuffbox open on his palm. Garret grimaced. The oversized box matched Ellington’s opinion of himself.

  It had been several months since he’d come across his grandfather’s ‘old friend.’ With a sigh, he closed the distance between them.

  Ellington always put him in mind of a fox, with his deep-set beady eyes and narrow, pointed nose. Those too-bright eyes fixed on Garret as he languidly inhaled a pinch of powder from the container, then offered it to him.

  “No, thank you.” Garret studied the milling crowd. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  “Did you think I’d miss the engagement of the decade? Your grandsire would have thought me bereft of curiosity.” He smiled. “Lady Regina”—he nodded toward the end of the room where she stood surrounded by a group of admiring young men and women—“has the right family. I wonder if she would have been your brother Edward’s choice?”

  Garret stilled. “I guess we will never know.” Now he remembered why his grandfather had always referred to Ellington as ‘merely an earl.’ The man had an annoying habit of coming right to the point.

  Ellington gave a slight shrug. “True. But your brother was a hellion in spite of the image he portrayed to your grandfather. I suspect he would have balked at marrying the very proper Lady Regina.”

  Verbal sparring had always been a game between Ellington and his grandfather. The earl, refusing to defer to the duke. Well, he wasn’t going to play. “The relationship between Lady Regina and myself is private. And as for my brother—”

  “Ah, yes, your brother.” Ellington slipped his snuffbox into his pocket, then grasped the lapels on his jacket and straightened his coat. When he’d finished, he caught Garret’s gaze, his scraggly eyebrows raised. “Edward never had any qualms about bending the rules as long as he maintained his veneer of respectability.” He held up a hand as Garret stepped forward. “Don’t be offended. I’m an old man and I wouldn’t last a round with you in a ring—if the rumors are true.” He chuckled. “Besides, I applauded your brother’s abilities. I’d rather hoped you were more like him. He would have made an admirable duke.”

  “If you’ll excuse me.” Garret turned on his heel and strode away with all the dignity he could muster. He dragged his hand over the raised scar on his chin. Memories he didn’t want to deal with right now battered him, dredging up truths that didn’t fit in his orderly world.

  Edward had flaunted grandfather’s rules. Night rides filled with gambling and women had been a regular occurrence. His brother had laughed when Garret worried they’d be caught. Somehow, his sibling had always managed to dupe their grandfather.

  Ellington spoke the truth. Edward had never been “perfect.” Once again his brother’s abilities were being thrown in his face. Ironic that Edward’s imperfections were what had garnered the respect of the old duke’s adversary.

  Garret’s fingers curled into fists. Ever since the accident, he’d striven to become an exemplary duke. He’d allowed his grandfather to use his pain and guilt—had fostered it. He’d deserved the constant reminders. But at what point had he allowed his grandfather to win?

  He’d become what he used to hate.

  Emptiness filled his soul. Ellington was right. Regina would never have been his choice, but she was the proper choice. Even in this, his grandfather was controlling him, like a puppet from the grave.

  A disturbance caught his eye. It wasn’t so much that people were moving out of someone’s way, only that they seemed to shrink away from some newcomers to the party.

  Bradford didn’t appear to notice the crowd’s discomfort at his arrival. His gaze scanned the guests, then locked on Garret. Morgan, however, appeared very aware of the stir they were making. Mischief livened his eyes as he nodded to some of the lords in the crowd who, without Bradford by his side, would have welcomed his company. They puffed out their chests and turned away before observing Morgan smile, then wink at some of the ladies nearby.

  Bradford strode toward Garret, his black and silver walking cane clutched in one hand. “We need to speak with you in private.”

  “This way.” Garret led them to a small parlor off the library, closed the double doors, then turned to face them. “Has something happened to Miss McClure?” She was safe at Belcraven. She had to be.

  “Nothing’s happened. Yet. At least as far as we know.” Bradford laid his cane against a chair and removed his gloves. “We’ve managed to discover the identity of your governess’ ‘benefactor’. The lady in question is her grandmother.”

  “But why would—?” Garret shook his head.

  “Why indeed?” Bradford inclined his head toward Morgan. “My inquisitive companion has a theory.”

  Morgan shrugged. “To my way of thinking, it was to keep her granddaughter from you.”

  “Me?”

  “You’d not be knowing then, that at one time Cara’s grandmother and your grandfather were engaged.”

  “Are you sure?” Had he ever known anything about this family?

  “Yes. Your grandsire left her to marry a woman of greater position. As the old duke had already ruined her, her family married her off to Pemberton as a punishment. She never forgave the Duke of Kendal. I’d be guessing she had the girl taken, and my gut tells me Russell was involved.”

  Anger at how easily he’d been duped gnawed at him. His grandfather had always attributed the Pemberton’s animosity to jealousy. He’d stated the bad blood arose from the Kendals greater favor with the King. Another lie. Another excuse for his cruel treatment of people.

  Even so, how could a grandmother do that to her own grandchild? Better yet, how had she succeeded? “You said Russell’s involved. In what way?”

  “I’m not quite clear.” Morgan sighed and threw himself onto one of the armless chairs that creaked under his weight. “All I know is he’s met with the grandmother a time or two in some unsavory locations and in the last couple of days, he’s disappeared. He may have heard that I’d been asking about him. I’m suspecting he’s no longer in London.”

  This wasn’t good. Cara was probably safe at his estate, but he didn’t want to take the chance. He tried to ignore the taunting voice in his head that told him Russell’s disappearance was an excuse to see her again. “Then I should return to Belcraven.”

  “But what of the engagement?”

  “Engagement?”

  Morgan raised his eyebrows. “Last I knew, you were wanting to marry Lady Regina. Most of the Ton is in attendance at the party outside these doors.”

  “I’ll find some excuse.” Though he doubted Lord Stanton would be pleased with any explanation he could give him. It didn’t matter. Cara’s safety must come first.

  Bradford stepped forward and caught Garret’s arm as he turned to leave. “Morgan will remain in London, on the off chance Russell shows himself. I believe I’ll pay a visit to the Pemberton Estate and Miss McClure’s benefactor. As you’ll be returning to Belcraven, we’ll meet up with you there.” He picked up his cane. “Right. We’d best see to it.”

  Garret darted from the room, vaguely aware that people no longer paid them any attention. Everyone appeared to be enthralled by the raised voices of two women at the entrance to the ballroom.

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nbsp; When he managed a clear view of them Garret nearly groaned. He should have known. His petite sister, looking for all the world like a wrathful fairy, had accosted one of the guests.

  “I will not be treated in this manner. I demand to see the Duke of Kendal.” The visitor stepped around Mallory.

  Garret’s stomach clenched when he recognized the unwelcome guest. Ignoring Mallory, Lady Pemberton appeared to be searching for someone in the crowd. The woman so resembled Cara that there could be no doubt this was her mother.

  Mallory spun around, her face flushed. With her hands on her hips and anger narrowing her eyes, Garret knew she was moments away from finding the nearest instrument of destruction to physically persuade the unwanted guest to leave. He began to make his way toward them, before Mallory could do something she’d regret.

  “I’ve told you, my brother has no desire to see you.” Mallory hiked her skirts, came to a stop next to the woman, and crossed her arms.

  The woman set her chin at a stubborn angle, so like Cara when she was determined. “The Duke’s desires don’t interest me. I demand to know what he’s done with my daughter.”

  “He’s done nothing with her. She’s safe and sound at Belcraven. Now if you’ll please leave.”

  Dear God, what was Lady Pemberton doing here? His steps faltered.

  Instead of retreating, the unwanted guest advanced on Mallory. “No, she is not. I came to collect her at Belcraven this morning, but she’d gone.”

  “Gone where?” Garret realized that he’d used a voice louder than either of the two women. He couldn’t possibly have shouted. A duke never shouted. He lowered his voice and hurried to stand next to the pair. “Are you sure?”

  Cara’s mother glared at him. “Yes. I believe you call my daughter Miss McClure, though we both know that to be a falsehood, do we not, Your Grace?”