A Heart of a Duke Regency Collection : Volume 2--A Regency Bundle

by Christi Caldwell

  And yet, there would have never been Alice if there hadn’t been the grief-stricken parents determined to bring another child into the world. This quirky, spirited, and romantic girl who dreamed of love and desired a barrister over a duke. Now he couldn’t imagine a life without her in it.

  “Yes, the servants would tell me as much,” Alice said, ceasing her distracted movements. “He wanted me underfoot even less than you,” she said, flashing him a wry smile. Only, there was so much heartache contained within that pained attempt at humor that the bandage ripped once more. He’d failed Daphne and he’d failed Alice. In his bid to safeguard himself, he’d only brought hurt to the people who should have had his protection. Nor had his own hurt been healed by the debauched path he’d traveled. It had only left him… empty.

  “You’d be wrong on that score,” he said, throwing an arm around her shoulders and giving her a slight, awkward hug. He could not undo a lifetime of neglect, but he would show her the affection he’d long withheld.

  “No, you would be,” she said with a maturity far greater than her seventeen years. “I was the child, the unwanted girl child, who reminded him every day with my presence that his beloved wife was lost giving me life.”

  She spoke those words as one who’d heard them uttered too many times. His gut clenched reflexively. “Our mother wanted you desperately,” he said quietly. In those days when the late countess had learned she was expecting, Daniel had still been a child. “For almost eight months while she was carrying you, she smiled,” he said softly, looking out. “When she hadn’t smiled in the whole year before that.” For with Alistair’s passing, the light had gone out in the countess, only to be briefly reignited.

  “They wished for a boy,” Alice said bluntly. Her mouth twisted in a macabre rendition of a smile. “Father spent a good deal of time telling me as much.”

  “No child would have been good enough for him,” Daniel answered with an automaticity of truth that came from a place deep inside. He accepted that truth at last and, in it, found a peace. Their father had been shattered and there would have never been any putting him back together into so much as a semblance of the man he’d once been. Those issues, however, had been the late earl’s. They were not a result of anything Daniel had done or could have done. It had only taken the whole of his adult life to acknowledge that. “The day Alistair died…” How odd, a sibling who’d never even known her eldest brother. A sheen misted his vision and he blinked it back. By God, what had become of him?

  And yet, there was no shame or annoyance in this resurgence of emotions.

  When Alice lifted questioning eyes to him, he forced himself to continue. “The day he died, Father’s very reason for being died as well. No person could have ever eased that hurt.” Only now, seventeen years of his brother being gone, Daniel at last realized that truth. Accepted it, and a great weight was lifted. Freeing and healing. He’d spent years being the useless, worthless man his father accused him of being, ultimately fulfilling that prophecy laid out for him. He’d allowed it to define the person he’d become. Until Daphne.

  His sister stared on expectantly.

  “Given my,” his neck heated, “deplorable…” Good God, it was bloody torture humbling oneself in this way and talking about ones feelings. “…treatment of you these years,” he settled for, when she winged up an eyebrow. “You’re deserving of any resentment you hold for me.” His gaze drifted across the ballroom. “But I am sorry,” he said softly, futile words that proved useless when there could be no undoing them.

  “We both allowed him control here, Daniel,” his sister replied, touching her forehead. “And as long as he does, neither of us will know happiness.” She paused. “Your sending Miss Smith away is testament of that.”

  Sent her away. His throat worked. “I didn’t—” He fell silent. Daphne had ultimately left. She’d gone to protect his eight thousand pounds and Alice’s reputation, and for herself. She’d gone to have a life with purpose.

  Goddamn you, Daphne. How dare you reenter my life, and make me feel, and want to be a different man. And then leave.

  A viselike pressure squeezed at his lungs and he drew in a ragged breath. She’d breathed life back into him and it was bloody agonizing.

  “Go to her, Daniel.” Did that urging belong to his sister or did it exist in his own mind?

  Footsteps sounded in the hall and they both glanced to the entrance of the room. The Marquess of St. Albans filled the doorway. “I told Tanner I’d show myself here,” the other man called. He came forward and bowed to Alice. “Lady Alice.”

  “Lord St. Albans,” she returned. “I’ll allow you both your visit.” She gave Daniel a lingering look, as though she wished to say more, but then hopped down from the dais and skipped out with the exuberance of her youth.

  His friend claimed the spot just vacated by her. “So you’ve managed to not burn down Brook’s. I’d call that a successful week,” St. Albans drawled with high-sarcasm.

  “Not yet,” he said with forced humor, handing over the decanter he’d yanked from Alice’s fingers.

  The marquess accepted it, his earlier mirth gone. “You look terrible,” he said.

  As it was an observation, Daniel opted to say nothing. When Daphne had packed her meager belongings, boarded his carriage, and rode several streets onward to another residence, he’d known he would miss her. He’d never anticipated…this…great, gaping hole inside where his heart had been. A hole that had left him empty in ways he’d never been. He rubbed his hand over the ache in his chest. To no avail. The agony persisted; vicious, sharp and unyielding.

  In the end, she’d gone. All that remained was a stark reminder of how cold his existence had been the thirteen years without her. For three fleeting weeks, he’d smiled and laughed and lived. And with her gone, despair and pain sucked at him, holding him trapped in his misery. Another wave of despair slammed into him.

  St. Albans set aside the untouched bottle. “Your sister sent ’round a letter, urging me to pay you a visit.”

  Daniel’s neck heated. The traitor.

  “I understand Miss Smith has taken employment elsewhere,” St. Albans said quietly.

  His shoulders went rigid. “Yes well, my wicked household is really no place for a lady,” he said, his gaze unfocused. Particularly a lady of strength and integrity like her. In the past, he’d exercised little discretion and no uttered word was spared from sharing. God, what a bastard he’d been.

  Taking care to leave out the most intimate details, he proceeded to fill St. Albans in on his uncle’s discontent with Daphne as a companion, neatly and intricately sidestepping Tennyson’s treachery against Daphne all those years earlier…and again, these eleven years later.

  “Ah, so the lady had no choice but to seek employment elsewhere.” St. Albans said when he’d concluded his telling. The other man spoke with the ease of one who’d worked through a particularly challenging riddle. He kicked his feet out in front of him. “It is an uncertain world for a woman without a husband. Few options.”

  “I offered her marriage.” The admission slipped out and Daniel silently cursed, wanting to call it back. He’d let more people in these past weeks than he ever had before. Still, sharing that piece, Daphne’s rejection, with St. Albans was entirely too personal.

  The marquess stared back, flummoxed. “What?”

  Skin hot, Daniel briefly eyed the bottle. “She needn’t have left.” Of all the times to abandon spirits. He’d picked the bloody worst time to develop a sense of morality. “I offered her marriage and she…declined.” Not once. But twice.

  What reason had she to say yes? That taunting voice whispered around his mind. She wanted love, deserved it, and you did not give it to her.

  St. Albans again puzzled his brow. “So, instead of sacking the lady, you offered her marriage. And she said no. You should be elated.” Yes, he should be. “You are absolved of any obligation for—”

  “It wasn’t about obligation,” he thundere
d, jumping to his feet. The abrupt movement sent the decanter toppling over. St. Albans shot a hand out and righted it. An absolute stillness fell over the room.

  The marquess edged away from the spilled liquor. “What was it then, Montfort?”

  It is about her. And me. And us together. Unable to meet the other man’s assessing eyes, he set his snifter down and wandered over to the hearth. Laying his palms upon the smooth marble, he stared down at the cool, metal grate. “She chose to leave.” And every day he woke up with her not in his home, the ache in his chest deepened. His heart spasmed.

  “Did you give her a reason to stay?” the other man asked quietly.

  He scoffed, shaking his head. “What do I have to offer her?”

  “Do you love her?” the other man asked bluntly. Those words held Daniel motionless, as they invariably did. Just as they had when Daphne had breathed them into his ear, after he’d brought her to climax.

  He turned slowly back to face his friend. “I don’t love anyone.” He forced that long held truth out past tight lips.

  The marquess inclined his head. “Then you should be grateful she declined, because now you are free.”

  Free. Squeezing his eyes shut, St. Albans’ words crashed into him, made a mockery of the past thirteen empty years he’d lived. For there was nothing freeing in Daphne being gone from his life. It was raw. Agonizing. And gutted worse than any blade taken to his person. He struggled to draw in a breath through the pain knifing away at his insides but the agony persisted. The heartache, spread to every corner of his being so all he knew was a desolate misery. So this was love.

  Love? He had rejected feeling anything for anyone. And yet…

  I cannot live without her.

  Oh, God.

  I love her. Daniel shot his hands out, catching himself against the fireplace. He loved her courage and her strength and her convictions. He loved her delight in simple things. He’d always loved her. First as the girl who’d been a steadfast friend at his side through life’s greatest joy and miseries, and now as a woman who’d braved all life had thrown at her.

  “Yes,” St. Albans put in gently, as he came to his feet. “Invariably, that emotion has such an effect on a man.” A grin twitched at the other man’s lips. “Especially a rake now trodding a different path.”

  Daniel struggled to reconcile a lifetime of wickedness with everything he now hungered for. Nay, not everything. Rather, a family. He wished to be a family with Daphne. And Alice. Though long past the point of being a brother worthy of her, he wanted to be a family with her now. “I’ve spent too many years being a rake to ever change.” His voice emerged hoarse to his own ears.

  The marquess slapped him on the back. “If that were true, you’d not be in an empty ballroom, thinking about a woman who rejected your suit,” he reminded him. “The man you once were wouldn’t give a jot about his uncle’s orders and would be busy at his clubs drinking himself into a stupor.” He snorted. “And you certainly wouldn’t destroy a good bottle of brandy.”

  His world too unsteady to manage the customary grin that wry response should have elicited, Daniel frantically lifted his gaze to the other man. His pulse hammered loudly in his ears, deafening. “Now what?” he whispered. Now more than ever, he needed a friend. Even a friend he’d previously wronged.

  St. Albans widened his smile. “Why, you go win the lady’s heart.”

  Win the lady’s heart. He braced for the panic those words should bring…panic that did not come. He’d been a rake, a rogue, a scoundrel, wholly undeserving of her, but he wanted to be deserving of her now. He wanted to be the man she saw, when he himself hadn’t. He had so little to offer her, not the treasures she deserved—His heart thumped slowly. By God, that organ coming back to life hurt like the bloody devil. Daniel touched a hand to his chest. His fingers collided with the hard coin inside his jacket pocket.

  Now, to convince Daphne to abandon the treasure she’d been searching for her whole life and risk it all on a rake.

  Chapter 21

  “Her Ladyship requests your presence in her office.”

  Seated in her small office at Ladies of Hope, Daphne glanced up at the servant, Melanie, a young girl with limited vision who used a stick to guide her way through the institution. Daphne furrowed her brow. She wasn’t set to meet with the marchioness and review her responsibilities until Friday.

  Melanie cleared her throat and that sprung Daphne into movement. She exited the room behind the servant. The click of their canes echoed along the marble corridors, while Daphne made her way slowly to the Marchioness of Guilford’s offices.

  As she walked, she looked around at her new home. For all the grandeur and opulence of Daniel’s residence and country estate, Ladies of Hope may as well have been a study in the Palace of Versailles Daphne had seen depicted on the pages of a book long ago.

  The vibrancy of the pale pink satin wallpaper spoke to its newness. The elaborate carving in the mahogany Chippendale furniture bore the markings of wealth. In short, it was a veritable palace, far more fitting a queen, than an institution for young women with few options in life. And yet, Daphne had never aspired to such grandeur. Certainly not as a girl and not as a woman fresh to London.

  When she had been a girl, she’d had dreams of how her life would be. Those dreams had been unrestrained as the movements of her legs had once been. Even after her injury, she’d not truly recognized the extent to which her future had been altered. She had allowed herself the dream of a husband, children—love. Love, with only one man—Daniel.

  With the passage of time, those dreams had slowly died, leaving in their place, alternate hopes: Security. A roof over her head. Food in her belly.

  The charges he’d hurled at her just prior to her leaving echoed around her mind. He’d accused her of running and hiding and those words had stung. How dare he question her aspirations?

  Working inside Ladies of Hope and in possession of those three gifts to which all unwed women sought, she acknowledged the truth—he had been correct. Daphne had never felt emptier. She wanted a life of purpose and work…but she also wanted love. His love.

  She’d lived thirteen years without Daniel Winterbourne in her life and, yet, she’d been away from him a week now and the hollowness in not seeing him, being with him, baiting him, was greater than all those years combined.

  Drawing in a shuddery breath, she stopped outside the marchioness’ office.

  The young woman immediately looked up from the journal on her neat desktop; an ever-present smile on her pretty face. “Miss Smith,” she greeted happily, jumping to her feet. With both palms, she motioned Daphne forward. “Come, come,” she urged. “How are you getting on, Miss Smith?” the marchioness asked as they claimed seats across from one another.

  “Well,” she answered, the lie springing easily to her lips.

  “You are adjusting to being away from…the Earl of Montfort?” The question emerged hesitantly.

  Daphne choked on her swallow. Surely the other woman did not suspect? “I don’t—”

  “It was nigh impossible to miss the manner in which you studied one another,” the marchioness said with a gentle smile. “The pages linked you two together. Wagers were taken about whether he’d ruin you,” she continued. “It is one of the reasons I hoped you’d accept my offer of employment. I’d not see any lady ruined.”

  He hadn’t ruined her. He’d helped her redefine her worth beyond her bent leg. “The gossips know nothing,” Daphne said resolutely and the other woman nodded her agreement. “Dan…” The marchioness narrowed her eyes. “His Lordship and I were childhood friends.” And for a fleeting time, lovers. “His offer of employment stemmed from that connection.” And somewhere along the way, he’d upended her world and opened her heart in ways it had never been.

  “That is all there is between you, then?” The marchioness dropped her chin into her hands. “For, in seeing you here, I’ve come to suspect that, mayhap, his intentions were not the dishonorable
sort and that, mayhap, your feelings were mutually engaged.”

  That aching organ inside her chest, clenched. “There were…feelings,” Daphne murmured, admitting those words for the first time aloud to another soul. “But it requires two hearts to realize and form a complete one together.” By his admission, Daniel was incapable of reform, wanting a future, capable of a future without her in it.

  A commotion sounded in the hall with heavy footsteps and loud cries going up.

  Daphne jumped and swung her gaze to the closed door. “What…?”

  The loud bang of doors being slammed echoed from the hall. “Her Ladyship does not receive visitors, without an appointment,” a servant shouted.

  The marchioness rounded her eyes. “What in blazes?” She peered at the front of the room just as the door burst open. Daniel’s tall, commanding figure stood on the other side of that panel. He shot his hand out to keep the door from hitting him in the face. He swept his piercing gaze over the parlor, instantly finding Daphne with his eyes and the burning intensity there robbed her breath.

  Daphne cocked her head. “Daniel,” she whispered. Oh, God, he is here. Her heart skipped several beats. What is he doing here?

  He moved his gaze over her person, the way a person might when trying to memorize another. “Daphne,” he said, his deep voice gruff with some unnamed emotion. She’d never heard that from him and his mellifluous baritone washed over her, leaving her warm in ways she’d been cold since their parting.

  Gasping for breath, the butler skidded into the room. “I-I said H-Her Ladyship is not receiving visitors,” he cried, clutching at his side. “Your Ladyship,” the servant entreated. “I have summoned the footmen. I informed the gentleman you were not receiving visitors—”

  “It is all right,” the marchioness said in soothing tones as she sat back in her chair. “It is not every day a rake storms my offices.” A smile plucked at the corners of the other woman’s lips.