Daring to Love the Duke's Heir

by Janice Preston

  ‘That is appalling.’

  He agreed. It was one of the many habits of the higher echelons of society that he disliked, but he would not admit as much to Miss Liberty Lovejoy as she sat on his father’s sofa passing judgement. She seemed determined to believe the worst of his world, including blaming his brother for her brother’s misbehaviour.

  ‘Can you not ask your brother to stop encouraging Gideon? Please, my lord.’

  Dominic passed one hand around the back of his head, massaging the tight muscles at the top of his neck. ‘Even if I were inclined to speak to him on this, I can assure you Alex would likely do the exact opposite of what I asked of him.’

  And, now he came to think of it, that was no doubt the exact reason Gideon was behaving as Miss Lovejoy had described.

  ‘Perhaps if you trusted your brother to make his own decisions instead of—how did you put it?—remonstrating with him, he would mend his ways that much sooner.’

  Liberty surged to her feet.

  ‘So it is my fault, is it, Lord Avon?’

  Dominic didn’t answer, distracted by her curvaceous figure as she paced the room, her skirts swishing. She really was magnificent.

  ‘If you would do me the courtesy of replying to my point?’

  Her voice dripped sarcasm. Furious with himself for ogling her in such an ill-bred manner, Dominic blanked his expression and calmly met her glare. If looks could kill, or even maim, then he would be prostrate on the floor even now. The impulse to prod her further was irresistible. He raised one brow in deliberate provocation.

  ‘You may have noticed, my dear Miss Lovejoy, that calmness, elegance and poise are three of the qualities most desired in the young ladies of our world. There is a very good reason for that and I would advise you to nurture such traits in your own behaviour.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Only that too much vigour and...er...passion are not the done thing, you know.’

  He smiled kindly at her as she continued to look daggers at him.

  ‘You, sir, are no gentleman.’

  ‘I am merely trying to give you a hint as to how to go on in society, Miss Lovejoy.’ He folded his arms across his chest, enjoying her chagrin. ‘And, might I add, sarcasm does not become you. Am I correct in assuming that you and your sister will be making your debuts this coming Season?’

  Liberty turned to her sister. ‘Come, Hope. We are wasting our time expecting any assistance from His Lordship.’ She glared again at Dominic. ‘I shall write to your father, as you suggested, sir, in the hope that he possesses the conscience you so clearly lack.’

  Hectic pink flushed Hope Lovejoy’s cheeks as she shot a furious look at her sister. She stood and smoothed out her skirts, then dipped a curtsy as she smiled apologetically.

  ‘Do please excuse us for invading your home, Lord Avon,’ she said. ‘Good afternoon.’

  Dominic bowed. ‘No apology is necessary. Good afternoon, Miss Hope Lovejoy.’

  He then glanced at Liberty and guilt thumped him hard in the chest at the despair that dulled those extraordinary eyes. He stifled a sigh.

  ‘I shall have a word with Alex and make sure he and Wendover are not getting in too deep, Miss Liberty Lovejoy—’ and her name still made him want to smile ‘—but other than that there is little I can do. Alex will not take kindly to any attempt by me to tell him how to behave.’

  Gratitude suffused her features.

  ‘But I am still convinced you are worrying over nothing,’ he added.

  ‘I thank you nevertheless, my lord.’

  Liberty’s face lit with a more-generous smile than his offer warranted and, before he could stop himself, he found himself responding. He blanked his expression again and crossed to the bell pull. Liberty Lovejoy provoked strange emotions in him—emotions he did not care to examine too closely—but he was reassured by the knowledge their paths would rarely cross. Wendover, as a peer—even a hellraising peer—would find acceptance everywhere, but his sisters, raised in obscurity and with a grandfather in trade, would likely only frequent the fringes of society.

  William, thankfully, answered his summons promptly.

  ‘Please see the ladies out, William.’

  He bowed again, avoiding eye contact with either of his visitors, then stood stock still after they had gone, staring unseeingly at the closed door, wondering how one voluptuous, sweet-smelling woman had stirred such unaccustomed feelings within him. He had always kept his emotions under strict control, as behoved his father’s heir. Alex and their younger sister, Olivia—before she had wed four years ago—had always been the lively, mischievous ones of the family, but Dominic had grown up with the weight of expectation on his shoulders. It was his duty to make his father proud, to uphold the family name and to always behave as befitted a future duke.

  Also, strangely, he felt compelled to protect his father—a nonsensical-seeming notion when one considered how powerful Father was. But Dominic recalled his mother’s death all too clearly, and how Father had suffered from guilt. Dominic had seen and heard things no eight-year-old boy should ever see and hear and, by shouldering the responsibility of being the perfect son and the perfect heir, he had vowed to shield his father from further distress.

  He shook his head, as though he might dislodge those memories and the thoughts they evoked, clicking his tongue in irritation. He swung round to face the room. Betty hovered not five feet from him, having been unable to get past him to the door as he stood there like a mindless idiot, blocking her exit.

  He frowned and moved aside, motioning for the maid to leave, his promise to Miss Lovejoy—it had been a promise, had it not?—nipping at him. He would speak to Alex.

  ‘Betty?’

  ‘Yes, milord?’

  ‘Is Lord Alexander currently in residence?’

  Dominic did not live at Beauchamp House, preferring the privacy of his own town house when staying in London. He had travelled up to town yesterday from Cheriton Abbey and had merely called at Beauchamp House to warn the staff that his father’s butler, Grantham, would be arriving shortly to prepare the house for the arrival of the Duke and Duchess and to find out what day his sister, Olivia, and his brother-in-law, Hugo, were due to arrive in London.

  ‘No, milord.’

  ‘Ask downstairs if anyone knows where he is staying in London, will you please?’

  Betty nodded and then scurried past him out of the room.

  Chapter Three

  That glimpse of kindness in Lord Avon just before they left almost changed Liberty’s impression of His Lordship. Almost, but not quite. That one final concession was simply not enough to wipe out the many black marks against him, and Liberty, crotchety and restless after that interview, was in no mood to forgive. She clambered into the carriage behind Hope and sat down before knocking on the roof with her umbrella as a signal to Bilk to drive on. As soon as the carriage was in motion, Hope swivelled on the bench to face Liberty.

  ‘I was never more embarrassed,’ she said. ‘Do you never stop to think of the consequences of your actions on me and Verity? Lord Avon is the most eligible bachelor in the ton and Mrs Mount had grand hopes that one of us might catch his eye. She told me the family estates in Devonshire are vast, but now you have ruined our chances because you will never listen to anybody. You always think you know best. Oh! To think! I might have been a duchess.’

  ‘A marchioness, Hope. Lord Avon’s father is very much alive and well. And do please stop dramatising everything. That man would never seriously consider either you or Verity as suitable...he was utterly contemptuous about us not being raised with the expectations of moving in high society.’

  ‘But we have our looks on our side. Why, Lord Redbridge called me an Incomparable the other day! And, oh, Liberty! Isn’t Lord Avon the most handsome, well-set figure of a man you have ever seen?’


  ‘Hmmph. A person might think that, if she cared for the Corinthian type, but he is also arrogant, haughty, conceited—’

  Words failed her but, next to her, Hope unexpectedly giggled.

  ‘He has made you cross, hasn’t he, Liberty? Do you not realise all those words have the same meaning?’

  Liberty pursed her lips. ‘Unfeeling. Rude. Superior—’

  ‘Superior means the same again,’ crowed Hope.

  ‘Well, we can’t all have a way with words like you, Hope.’

  Now Hope was relieved of the necessity to earn a little money by teaching in the local school, she either had her head buried in a novel, or was madly scribbling poetry and plays, while Verity was rarely seen without a sketchbook in her hands.

  They were happy to leave the practicalities of running the family to Liberty—a responsibility she had taken on after their parents died, having promised her dying mother that she would look after the family and keep them safe.

  ‘Well, it matters not what your opinion of His Lordship may be, Libby, for I am very certain he would not consider you as marriageable after the way you spoke to him.’

  ‘I said no more than the situation warranted.’ Liberty turned aside and stared pointedly through the window as she continued her diatribe against Lord Avon inside her head.

  How dare he look down on us? Just because we weren’t raised in the lap of luxury it does not mean we are worth less as people.

  She glanced down at her gown. Admittedly, it was not today’s fashion, but it had hardly been worn, and surely it was wasteful not to make use of the gowns made for her five years ago.

  At least His Precious Lordship can’t fault Hope—her gown is the very latest fashion!

  The carriage pulled up outside the Green Street town house they currently called home. Lord Avon might have tried to divert her by claiming the Wendover estates could stand such losses as two hundred pounds a night—even thinking of such a loss made Liberty feel quite faint—but Gideon’s inheritance did not even include a house in London and his country house needed complete rebuilding, which would cost a fortune, so she was right to worry about money. Someone had to. She’d wager Lord Avon had never had to worry about money, with a father who was a wealthy duke. They were clearly so vastly rich and so elevated on the social scale that ordinary people’s fears simply did not register with them.

  Hope jumped from the carriage and scurried to the door, leaving Liberty to follow. As she shrugged out of her pelisse and handed it to Ethel, their housemaid, Hope’s tones of outrage floated down the stairs.

  ‘And, would you believe, she dragged me to the house of none other than the Duke of Cheriton to confront him about his son’s behaviour.’

  Liberty sighed.

  ‘Thank you, Ethel. Has Miss Hope ordered a tea tray?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  Liberty trod up the stairs, reluctance to face her sisters and Mrs Mount slowing her steps. Of course they would all three disapprove of what she had done, but what choice did she have?

  She had kept to her word to Mama, working hard to help keep their small family estate solvent. Gideon—who had inherited the estate from Papa—had left university and thrown himself into the life of a country squire and farmer. He’d never complained. She’d thought he was content enough.

  Gideon and she...they had been a true partnership through those hard years. But then, last year, summer had never materialised and harvests had failed the length and breadth of the country, leaving many in hardship and the poorest starving. Gideon had become morose and withdrawn, worrying about the survival of their family home. And then had come the most unexpected news of all. Lord Wendover and his entire family—distant family members they had never even met, so obscure was the connection—had perished, leaving Gideon as the nearest male relation and thus the new Earl of Wendover.

  Gideon had changed. It had been as though he had been incarcerated in a prison, and freedom had taken him and turned him from a hard-working, considerate brother into...a stranger. That familiar hollow ache filled Liberty’s chest and she rubbed at it absentmindedly, tears burning behind her eyes. Her beloved brother. The other half of her. Her twin. They’d always shared a close bond but now...she feared he was lost to her for good.

  What does Lord Avon know? Supercilious, over-privileged, condescending... He seemed to think this behaviour was normal. Well, Liberty knew Gideon as well as she knew herself and this was as far from normal for him as it was possible to be. It had to be the influence of Avon’s wicked brother.

  Head high, she walked into the drawing room and a deathly silence. Before she had taken a seat by the fire, however, all three occupants spoke at once.

  Hope, accusing. ‘I told them what you did.’

  Mrs Mount, regretful. ‘My dear—how could you possibly think that a wise course? If only you had sought my advice. You know how important it is for you all to get vouchers for Almack’s—this sort of transgression will do nothing to help your cause.’

  Verity, condemning. ‘Isn’t that just like you, Liberty—charging in without a thought as to how your actions will reflect upon the rest of us?’

  Liberty sat down and arranged her skirts, then folded her hands in her lap.

  ‘If you have all quite finished—I did what I thought needed to be done and I shall not apologise for it.’

  She sensed the others exchanging glances, but she kept her attention on the flickering flames and concentrated on keeping any tell-tale tears at bay as she hoped Lord Avon would not spread the story of her visit far and wide. She had taken a risk, but she was growing desperate and she felt so alone. Where else could she turn for help? Even Godmama was gone now, having passed away last year. The alternative was to ignore Gideon’s ever-wilder behaviour and simply pray he would come to his senses. Well, that approach might have been Mama and Papa’s solution were they still alive—they had always put their total faith in God and the Bible—but Liberty had long ago stopped trusting in Divine intervention. Where had God been when first Bernard, then Papa, then Mama had all succumbed to the cholera, even though Liberty had spent the entire journey home from London in desperate prayer? Nowhere, that was where.

  No. It had been worth the risk to visit the Duke, even though only his arrogant son had been in residence. Lord Avon had given his word to speak to Alexander, although his warning that his brother would be unlikely to pay any heed rang in her ears, reviving her feeling of utter hopelessness.

  Ethel brought in the tea tray and Verity poured the cups and handed them round. Liberty accepted hers and sipped, relishing the slide of the hot tea as it soothed her paper-dry throat.

  ‘What did the Duke say?’ Mrs Mount’s tentative enquiry broke into Liberty’s circling thoughts.

  ‘Ah.’ Liberty placed her half-drunk cup carefully in its saucer. ‘He is not in residence. We did, however, speak to his son, Lord Avon. Lord Alexander’s older brother. Do you know him?’

  ‘Yes, of course, although not as well as his father. He and I are of an age, you know—such a tragedy, his first wife dying like that...but there! That’s all in the past now. Avon, now...he is a very different man to his brother—very serious and correct. And he is the most eligible bachelor in the ton.’ Her reproving look scoured Liberty. ‘I did harbour hopes he might develop a tendre for one of your sisters, but that is now a lost cause. Avon’s behaviour is very proper. Beyond reproach. I dare say he was shocked at a young lady having the temerity to call upon him without prior introduction and unchaperoned to boot.’

  Liberty shrugged. ‘Firstly, I was not unchaperoned. Hope was there and there was a maid in the room, too. And secondly, I should not care to even hazard a guess as to His Lordship’s thoughts.’

  She recalled the slide of his gaze over her figure—for a split second she had seen desire flare, before he masked his expression. The thought sent a quiver of heat chasing across
her skin.

  ‘Hope,’ said Mrs Mount reprovingly, ‘is not an adequate chaperon for you, nor you for her. And so the visit was a waste of time and a risk not worth taking?’

  ‘Not entirely. He did offer to speak to his brother, but he did not give us much hope that Lord Alexander will pay him any heed.’

  ‘Is the Duke coming to town? If anyone can control Lord Alexander, it will be him.’

  ‘Lord Avon did not say. Maybe...should I speak to Lord Alexander myself?’

  ‘Nooo!’ three voices chorused.

  Mrs Mount shushed Liberty’s sisters with a wave of her hand before fixing Liberty with a stern look. ‘You have done what you can, my dear. I really think you must allow Gideon to come to his senses in his own time. And he will. I am sure of it. In the meantime, we should concentrate on the upcoming Season and finding you three girls suitable husbands. Once you are married off and have families of your own, you will have more important matters to occupy your thoughts.’ Her grey eyes raked Liberty. ‘Are you certain I cannot persuade you to have a new gown or two made, my dear? That one does look sadly outmoded.’

  ‘Mrs Mount is right, Liberty,’ said Hope. ‘Verity and I have had so much and you’ve barely spent a penny on yourself. You deserve something nice. Surely you can bring yourself to order one gown?’

  Liberty recognised Hope’s peace offering—their family squabbles never lasted long, thank goodness. She recalled Lord Avon’s initial perusal of her. Despite Gideon’s assurance that he could ‘stand the blunt’, as he put it, Liberty had been unable to bring herself to squander even more money on herself. Now, however, she found herself eager to prove to His High-and-Mighty Lordship that the Lovejoys could be respectable.

  ‘Very well. One evening gown,’ she conceded. ‘But not to catch a husband. I have told you. I shall never marry. Bernard was my one and only love and I shall remain true to his memory.’