A Duke by December

by Sabrina Darby

  But now, with that note in his voice, that sense that, if anything, Mr. Hughes understood their loss, the kindness and intensity of his eyes… it was too much.

  She took a deep bracing breath and then looked to John to make certain he was not unraveling as fast as she. But her brother was studying his own hands, flexing and stretching them, and his grim expression was one of anger. Just as well for John to rage. It would keep him strong, and they needed that strength more than her moment of weakness.

  “It’s time to go.” Nathaniel Hughes stood, swung one valise over his shoulder, and picked up his satchel. In his free hand, he held a rifle.

  • • •

  They traveled south along the roughly marked road until, as it neared time to rest, Nate directed them into the forest where they could find some semblance of safety. The half-moon’s silvery light, which reminded him uncomfortably of the girl’s eyes, revealed as much as it hid, but the thick blanket of trees cast everything in deep shadow.

  He set the pair of runaways to making a fire and was relieved to see that they were able to complete the task without question. Although a fire was risky, they needed warmth. The hot summer nights had already faded into cold.

  He wiped down his horse, speaking soothingly to her. Calliope was unsettled by the unusual schedule.

  “Mr. Hughes.”

  Nate glanced up at the young boy. He was tall, already surpassing his sister, his face so earnest, the expression revealed by the flickering lights of the flames.

  “Thank you for your help. I…”

  “We’re not safe yet.” Nate glanced up at movement and spied Miss Smith slipping behind the trees. The girl had grown up out here. She likely knew enough to stay close, but he’d search for her if she didn’t return in more than a handful of minutes. He looked back to John.

  “I know but… You didn’t need to step in. Most white men wouldn’t…”

  “You’re angry,” Nate suggested. If what Miss Smith had said was true, then they had a right to be angry, both morally and legally.

  The boy’s hands tightened into fists. While Nate could never understand fully the plight of a black man in America—the danger of losing one’s liberty so utterly—he knew something about being thought inferior and about the helpless rage of a male youth, especially the desire to beat the world with one’s fists. With no parents to raise him, there was a chance this boy would give in to that desire.

  “Go to sleep,” Nate suggested. “We can only rest a few hours before dawn, and then we’ll have to be on our way. Moving at night, we haven’t covered our tracks. We’ll need to do that tomorrow.”

  “Where are you heading?”

  Nate heard the questions beneath that. When are you going to leave us? When are we going to be alone and fending for ourselves again? The boy was as terrified as he was angry.

  “We’ll discuss it in the morning.”

  “I’m not tired. I know how to use a rifle. I can watch for bears—”

  “John,” Nate interrupted. “I’m certain you can. But tonight I need you to sleep. We all need to be at our strongest by dawn. Here, take this.” He handed the boy his blanket.

  John’s mouth worked as if he wanted to say more, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he took the blanket, turned around, and returned to where he’d dropped his satchel.

  Nate took a deep breath and patted Calliope on the rump and then moved his own pack closer to the fire.

  He kicked a few rocks aside and smoothed out a grassy patch before settling down. Pulled out his pocket watch and stared at the time. Three twenty. When he had been a student at university, it had not been unusual for him to stumble home at this hour after a night carousing with friends. But the early years of manual labor had changed him.

  He wound the watch carefully, the fine movements accentuating the pain in his knuckles that he had been almost successfully ignoring. He looked up briefly when Elizabeth Smith entered the clearing again. The light highlighted the edge of her features and her hair. She was a lovely woman and it was surprising that she wasn’t married yet. Hadn’t already born children of her own.

  Maybe she had.

  He thrust the thought away. It aroused too many lustful images that had no place in a situation such as this one.

  A situation that he didn’t imagine would end anytime soon. Unless his new traveling companions had relatives nearby with whom he could leave them, or unless they found some other point of safety, it was likely he’d have to shepherd them to their stated destination. Nate knew himself well enough that anything short of that would haunt him.

  The way injustice always haunted him.

  From the petty ones of his childhood, to the daily ones in the tin mines in which he had once worked, to the men and women enslaved on farms and plantations. He’d been poor and angry when he’d arrived in America, but there were so many whose plight in life was much worse, who did not even own their own bodies. A crime against nature.

  He tucked the watch away and dragged his rifle into his lap. He was overly aware that the girl was still awake, sitting next to her sleeping brother and staring into the fire. Her mind was naturally troubled, but despite his temporary role as protector, her thoughts were not his burden. He wouldn’t let them be. Still, the forest was full of sounds, the crackling of the fire, the occasional hoot of an owl, the rustling of leaves from whatever creatures were awake in the night, and yet the silence was thick.

  He was unsurprised when she stood up and walked over to where he sat. He glanced up at her and was struck again by the silvery-moon glow of her eyes. Some other night, some other place, he’d pull a woman with those eyes close, lose himself in her lush femininity. But those thoughts were inappropriate here, and there was something about the expression on her face, the hesitancy in her manner, that set him on edge.

  “You should sleep,” he said as she sat down, hoping to dismiss her easily.

  “I… I wanted to thank you first.”

  Even in the shadows, he could see there was more she wanted to say. She was terrified and, like her brother, unwilling to lose the little protection Nate’s presence provided.

  “That’s not all you want.”

  Her eyes widened, although to his mind they were impossibly large already. “No. John’s not going to be safe until we’re in the north. You’re a Yankee, aren’t you?”

  Nate’s hands tightened around the smooth metal. He’d intended on taking them to New Orleans, as she had indicated her intention to be as they’d marched through the night. Now she wished to go farther. Paying for their passage to New York would not inconvenience him in the least, but accepting that level of responsibility would have consequences.

  Chivalry had its place, but he could not deny the desire that persisted, tendril-like, despite his reluctance to acknowledge it. He wanted this slip of a girl with her unearthly eyes.

  “Actually, I’m English.”

  “But you’re headed north. Aren’t you?” she pressed. “I’ll do… anything.”

  He looked at her sharply. There was no mistaking the invitation in her eyes, one that echoed the thoughts in his. She reached up to her bodice as if to lower it. The firelight lingered on her skin as he watched her fingers tug slightly on the rough fabric of her inexpertly made dress, drawing attention to the rise and fall of her bosom. A generous bosom.

  “Men have needs. I can… I can take care of that for you on the way.” She spoke quickly, her voice tinged with that same desperation, and he hated that his body wanted him to take her up on her offer. Wanted to rip that plain dress and free the breasts beneath.

  “No. You can’t.” His eyes narrowed, and his lips turned into a thin, uncompromising line.

  “But…”

  “Aside from the fact that children don’t interest me,” he said, “I’m not going to take advantage of you.” Disgust dripped off his words. At himself for feeling aroused by her offer. For noticing the way her breasts pressed against the thin fabric of her dress and the way her hi
ps swayed under her skirts.

  He was a man. Fine, he had baser instincts, but only an ingrate would ever act upon them in such circumstances. If not exactly a child, she was young and in danger, and the idea that he’d take advantage of her appalled him. But his internal fight was none of her business. More importantly, he needed to assure her.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. Even though he knew that at the moment all that stood between the siblings and danger was his presence and his instinct to protect her.

  “Please. He took my pa’s gun. All our money. We have nothing but enough food for one more day.” Even more fuel for her desperation.

  “What was your plan?”

  She looked down, red suffusing her face. “I didn’t think much further than escape. John and I are good workers. As I said, I hoped maybe we could work our way south to Louisiana. I’ve heard it’s different there. A place where the law can’t follow us.”

  He nodded. “Louisiana is a good choice—my own preferred route—and we’ll take a ship to New England.”

  Her face brightened and he realized what he had said.

  “I can’t thank you enough.” Her voice sounded strained, as if she might cry.

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he said with a light laugh, turning to the fire in a clear dismissal.

  A dismissal she recognized, for she stood slowly. In his peripheral vision he was aware of the cracked leather of her very worn half boots. Those things would fall apart before they even reached the border.

  “I’m not a child.” She said the words so quietly he almost didn’t hear it. Wished he hadn’t. Because he knew very well that she wasn’t, and if she’d made such an offer under any other circumstance, he probably wouldn’t have turned it down. Heat pooled in his loins and he took a deep breath, willing the surge of desire to ebb. He’d agreed to protect her. To protect her brother. To shepherd them to Boston.

  And he’d be dammed if at the very least he wouldn’t protect her from himself.

  Chapter Two

  Sixteen months later, Nate sat in the front room of the offices of Richards, Thistlewaite and Tompkins Solicitors in London, listening to Reginald Tompkins animatedly read through the Beckworth will, which outlined all the possessions entailed with the duchy as well as all the unentailed property currently in Beckworth hands. The listing of possessions, land, property, and family jewels seemed to go on endlessly. He had grown up on the fringes of this world, and now, improbably, he was a duke.

  The newest Duke of Beckworth.

  Ever since he had learned of his unexpected inheritance nearly two months ago, Nate had struggled to come to terms with what the change meant for him. He did not need this wealth; he had more than enough money of his own. He did not need the prestige and power the title conferred, and over the years he had found that he much more admired a man who rose to power through merit. In fact, for one night in New York he had considered ignoring the inheritance.

  Yet Nate had never walked away from duty, and the call of the land, of the people who depended on the Duke of Beckworth, was one he had to answer, willingly or not.

  He glanced at Lizzie and she met his gaze with a small smile. The tension inside him eased somewhat. Even if the solicitor had looked a bit unsettled at the idea of a female secretary, Nate was grateful Lizzie had agreed to accompany him to London despite their travel plans shifting so abruptly. She had greeted the news with her usual equanimity and had gone about organizing the entire endeavor of leaving for London while he’d caught up with his old friends.

  Old friends. His childhood love had come to find him and inform him of his inheritance and then had fallen in love with his other childhood friend on the way. Despite that, and despite all the years apart, they all were friends. It had taken a mere handful of hours for them to feel utterly comfortable kicking their shoes off and drinking port in the parlor of Nate’s home.

  That might have been the one time that Nate had managed to shock Lizzie. She had walked in on the reunion, looked about the room and then, wide-eyed, promptly excused herself.

  She shifted in her chair and he glanced at her. That night he had wanted her to stay. Just as today he had wanted her at his side, even though she was probably tired and hungry and very much looking forward to the hotel where her brother was likely making himself comfortable on one of the very appealing beds, but her presence at Nate’s side made the situation feel less the stuff of lunacy.

  “And that is that,” Mr. Tompkins said, putting the lengthy document down on the desk. “It was my intention to ease the transition by accompanying Your Grace to Beckworth Park. Unfortunately, I cannot at this time. However, I shall endeavor to assist you to the best of my ability. Aside from discussing the will, there are certain matters I feel it is imperative to address.”

  He proceeded to outline the events of the Beckworth estate over the previous year: the embezzlement by Mr. Morehouse, the land agent, and the competency of the assistant land agent despite the upheaval, the effect of the freezing year on the crops and its significance for the estate, and of course the matter of his ward.

  “My ward?” Nate frowned.

  “A young man—the age of twelve, I believe—is currently at Beckworth and taught by a governess, Adele Vere.”

  “Miss Smith’s brother is fifteen,” Nate said. He was very aware of Lizzie watching him closely. “Perhaps Miss Vere will suffice until he is more settled in England.”

  Lizzie relaxed next to him. Naturally, she would be worried on her brother’s behalf. After a few false starts and refusals of schools to take in a boy of African descent, John had happily settled at a Quaker school. She had no way of knowing how John would be received here in England, and it was natural that she’d want to keep him close to home at first.

  Further conversation with the solicitor revealed more inhabitants of the Beckworth country seat: an elderly Lady Maude, who was actually a relation of Nate’s, and her companion, Rose Leyton, who had recently married the new land agent and become Mrs. Ford. The great majority of these had been mentioned briefly in the will as certain monies had been settled upon them, but now Nate understood the connection behind all the names.

  “And I’m afraid I’m woefully behind on London fashion,” Nate said, the switch in topic catching Lizzie’s attention. “Would you recommend a tailor?”

  “Falcon & Gates for Your Grace.” The solicitor hesitated. “For Miss Smith, if you shall be attending any society events with His Grace, then Heloise Allard.”

  “I can’t imagine,” Lizzie said softly and Nate glanced at her again. He never thought of her clothes. They were always simple frocks with clean lines and dark colors. He knew there was a dressmaker she had frequented in New York, but that had been one of her expenses for which he had never paid. Of course, Lizzie would have been careful with her funds. She ferreted away the great majority of her salary and invested another portion. Rather successfully, he believed. She had an instinct for the market. Lizzie would be truly formidable if she had been able to begin her schooling at a younger age.

  “Heloise Allard,” he repeated and gestured for Lizzie to write the name down. She deserved something of a holiday, a frivolity that made her happy. A new wardrobe with no expense spared, a few days in London to see the sights. And he was a duke now. While she’d rarely attended society functions with Nate in New York, she had often acted as hostess in his home if he entertained business associates for dinner. He could only imagine she would continue to do so. Thus a new wardrobe was even a matter of practicality. A necessity.

  She raised an eyebrow but he stared back, daring her to countermand him. In private, perhaps she would have. After all, Lizzie liked to speak her mind. Today she merely gave the slightest shrug.

  “Some further practical matters,” Mr. Tompkins said, redirecting Nate’s attention. “I believe the duchess is in town but is staying at her brother’s home. Thus the town house is on a skeleton staff. Regardless, if I send my man over to inform them of your imminent ar
rival, I have no doubt the house will be very comfortable, if short staffed at first. However, if you prefer, I can send my man to procure rooms at one of the fine hotels instead. How long do you intend to stay in town before continuing on to Beckworth Park?”

  “From everything you say, Mr. Tompkins, it seems as though the sooner we make the journey, the better.”

  “I thought we’d stay in town a few days,” Nate began, voicing aloud the plan he had been concocting.

  “Miss Smith is quite correct, Your Grace,” the solicitor interjected. “Beckworth is muddling along, but the staff and tenants, everyone will benefit from your attention.”

  Nate nodded. Of course, Lizzie would be right. But his plan to let her relax, to make certain she and John enjoyed themselves for a few days, would be cut short.

  “And while it is on my mind… Does Miss Smith have a companion, or would you like me to procure one? At Beckworth, any number of women might act as chaperone inherently. Lady Maude, certainly.”

  Nate frowned. “Miss Smith is part of my household. As is her brother. She has served as my secretary, and we certainly have not required a companion.” But perhaps he had been remiss. As he well knew, Lizzie was a young unmarried female living in his home, and though he employed her as his secretary, she was not quite a servant in the manner a maid or a valet might be. Though it had taken a Herculean effort at first, his gaze no longer lingered lustfully on the curves of Lizzie’s body. At least, rarely. In fact, in many ways, he thought of the siblings as his wards and the employment a mere way to settle money upon them that would not sting their well-developed pride.

  Shortly before their arrival in New Orleans as they had waited for the ship that would take them to New York, Lizzie had told him, somehow and someday, she would repay him for his generosity in helping them. While his filthy mind had returned to her initial offer, she had explained that she knew it might take years.