The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2)

by Meara Platt

  Rose was the first to find her voice. “What did she do?”

  Ian’s mother shook her head and sighed. “It is never easy for a woman to lose her child, but my son showed no mercy. That is so like him. Cold, cruel. He abandoned her to fend for herself. She had nowhere to go, no funds or family to take her in. She’s dead now—”

  Dillie gasped.

  Daisy grasped her hand and gave it a little squeeze. She supposed the gesture was meant to calm her. Perhaps it was meant to convey doubt about the dowager’s tale, for what sort of mother spilled gossip to strangers about her own son? Dillie wasn’t certain about the reason, but she was glad for her sister’s touch. That was Daisy in a nutshell. The thoughtful middle child, the conciliator. Daisy also knew how hurtful lies about one’s honor could be, for she’d endured a tarnish to her own good reputation. Fortunately, Gabriel had seen beyond the lies and fallen in love with her. They’d had their happy ending.

  She knew Ian would never have his happy ending, not if he continued on his current path. But how could she get him off that path? He didn’t trust women. She glanced at the dowager. Her eyes were avidly gleaming, as though preparing for another attack.

  She sighed inwardly. This woman had shaped Ian, doomed him to loneliness.

  “My son will deny responsibility for her sad fate, just as he’s denied responsibility for the other deaths he’s caused.”

  “Other deaths?” Dillie repeated, her entire body now numb.

  “Celestia, enough,” someone angrily spoke from behind Dillie. She didn’t need to turn around to recognize Eloise’s gentle but commanding voice. That she’d referred to the dowager by her given name, and not Your Grace or other courtesy title, meant she was beyond angry. She was livid.

  “Lady Dayne, so nice to see you.” Rose leaned forward to buss her cheek.

  Dillie did the same, adding a quick hug, for she was glad to have her join them and take Ian’s mother to task. Eloise was the voice of reason. Eloise was all things kind and gentle. Yet, she was no fool. If Ian had done wrong, she would have been the first one to take him to task for it. “You don’t know any of the facts. He’s your son. Hear him out before you encourage the ugly gossip.”

  “Do you think I wish these horrid rumors to be true?” Ian’s mother put a hand to her throat as though pained. Again, the cold gleam of her eyes proved otherwise. “He brings it upon himself. He shames our noble family. He’s destroyed our good family name.”

  She added something more, but Dillie couldn’t hear it. The Wakeford ballroom was now packed to the rafters with guests and much too noisy to continue discussion of this delicate subject. An elegantly clad couple bumped into her as they passed by, tossing apologies as they moved through the sea of bodies.

  Noise and laughter filled Dillie’s ears so that her head began to spin. She could hardly hear Ian’s mother and the bitter words she was still spewing. “I cannot bear to speak of him,” she continued, her voice half lost amid the growing din. “The mere thought of him, of his wanton ways and casual disregard of others, reduces me to tears.”

  However, Dillie noticed that she’d shed no tears. Was she being unfair to the dowager? Years of sorrow could have drained her of all feeling, wrung her out so completely that she had no more tears left to shed.

  People don’t change, Dillie reminded herself, struggling to shake off the dread that threatened to overwhelm her. Ian was either the worst human being alive, or horribly wronged. Was it possible that Ian had fathered a child? It would explain his fascination with Ivy. He’d been watching her play with the child several weeks ago at Daisy’s house. He had definitely been studying them. Perhaps hoping to learn how to be a father?

  Dillie exchanged desperate glances with her sisters. Were they thinking the same thing? They’d talk privately later, preferably after Dillie had spoken to Ian. He deserved to be heard, and she had so many questions to ask him. Would he bring the child to London? Was the child in London now? Was the child really his?

  More important, was he properly caring for this precious innocent who deserved to be protected no matter how he or she had come into the world?

  Dillie scanned the crowd, hoping to find Ian, for he would easily stand out amid the powdered faces in the ballroom. She wanted to slip away to talk to him. Now that Eloise had arrived, there would be no more gossip about him. She was relieved. She’d heard more than enough for one evening.

  The orchestra, hidden in the balcony overlooking the dance floor, continued to play the opening waltz. Lord Wakeford was still dancing with his wife, and though they were a little on in years, they seemed to enjoy being in each other’s arms. No wonder the waltz was all the rage in London. Who wouldn’t adore being in the arms of someone they loved?

  The choice surprised some of the older ladies who were expecting a traditional quadrille, but it delighted the younger ones who were eager to be swept into the arms of handsome suitors. She noticed Charles and his cousin among the dancers and knew they’d be occupied for the next half hour.

  Dillie’s legs felt weak. She politely excused herself and hurried through the double doors that led onto the grand terrace. A gentle breeze blew through her curls as she stepped outside. She expected to be alone, for it was early yet. The music had just started, so there hadn’t been time for the room to heat up. Ladies and gentlemen were whirling and swaying in time to the music, too busy enjoying themselves to consider walking away from the gaiety.

  Dillie wasn’t feeling very festive at the moment. She needed time to think, to compose the questions she wished to ask Ian. She wondered where he was. Perhaps dancing? Or playing cards? Then she noticed a gentleman standing in a dimly lit corner of the terrace, his elbows resting on the stone balustrade as he gazed up at the stars.

  Dillie shivered. It was a cool, clear night. A half moon cast its silver glow across the Wakeford garden. Thousands of stars twinkled brightly against the black sky. She slipped beside him and joined him in staring at the stars. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  Ian laughed softly. It was a curt, mirthless laugh. “You shouldn’t be out here, Daffy.”

  He’d called her Daffy, as he always did when trying to push her away. She gazed at him, wanting to ask questions and not knowing where to start. She had no right to pry into his affairs. She would have been quite put out if he’d meddled in hers. Not that she had anything going on in her life that would interest anyone. Nothing of interest whatsoever. Quite dull. Intensely boring.

  She sighed.

  He shifted his stance, now straightening to his full height as he returned her stare. “Are you going to gawk at me all evening? I assume you’ve heard the rumors.”

  She nodded. “Your mother told me about the child.”

  “My mother?” He tensed. “I see. She doesn’t waste time.”

  “In cutting you to ribbons? No, she’s rather good at it.” She placed a hand on his arm and felt the ripple of his taut muscle beneath her fingers, as though he were steeling himself against her next words. “We Farthingales have many faults, but raising children isn’t one of them. If you need any help with... goodness, I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl.”

  “A girl. Felicity.”

  Dillie smiled. “What a lovely name. So much nicer than mine. Daffodil. Ugh!” She let out a mock shudder. “If you need any help with Felicity, please ask. I’m not as experienced as my mother or sisters in caring for children, but I’ve stepped in and cared for several of my cousins whenever we’ve lost nannies, something that happens fairly often in the mad Farthingale household.”

  “Mad is an understatement.” His lips curled ever so slightly at the corners and his gaze seemed to soften.

  She blushed. “I don’t mean to pry, but I’d like to offer my help. We’re friends. It is what friends do... help each other out when asked. Though you haven’t asked me. Perhaps you were afraid to impose, but it isn’t an imposition at all.” She was rambling now and couldn’t seem to stop. “The point is, the child is inn
ocent and shouldn’t be blamed for what you and... er, her mother did. Not that I’m judging you. I don’t even know what really happened. Nor do I expect you to answer to me. You don’t owe me explanations.”

  She sighed, and then closed her eyes a moment to gather the thoughts still muddled in her head. “What I’m trying to say, and doing a rather bad job of it, is that I heard Felicity’s mother died. I’m so sorry, Ian. No matter what your mother says, I don’t believe you abandoned her or ripped the child from her arms. You’d never hurt the mother of your child.”

  He shook his head again. “Mother of my...? Is that the gossip? That I’m Felicity’s father.” He let out a deep, groaning laugh. “That’s rich.”

  “You’re not?” Dillie’s heart leaped into her throat. “Why would your mother spread such a cruel rumor about you?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

  “Of course you care. Anyone would care.” Unbidden, she repeated what his mother had told her. She watched his expression, but it remained unreadable. His mother had maliciously distorted the truth in order to damage his reputation. Not that Ian had much of a reputation to protect. Still, he wasn’t the beast his mother made him out to be.

  “At first, I didn’t know what to believe. That’s why I went in search of you. Pruitt believes you’re an honest man.”

  “Your butler?” He shrugged again. “High praise indeed.”

  “It is. He’s never wrong. That’s why I had to seek you out. I know you’ll tell me the truth.” Her hand was still resting lightly on his arm. She felt another twitch of his muscle beneath her palm. She could feel the tension flow through him like the angry flow of molten lava. “Will you talk to me?”

  “No.” He returned his gaze to the stars.

  “Please look at me. Please, Ian.”

  “No. You shouldn’t be out here. People will make something of it. Your reputation will be in tatters. You don’t want to be caught on the terrace with a murderer, do you?”

  She wanted to pummel him for his obstinacy. “I’m not out here with a murderer. I’m gazing at the stars with you.”

  He surprised her with a sudden, harsh laugh. “So, you think you know me?”

  “Actually, not at all. And I don’t wish to know you, because I may end up liking you more than is safe for me. Though you’re doing your best to make yourself unlikeable right now.”

  “It’s what I seem to do best.”

  “It’s the way you defend yourself from pain. I understand that now, for after a few moments with your mother, my head is aching and my entire body feels numb.”

  Though he said nothing, she felt the slightest easing of his tension. She took it as a small sign of encouragement and continued. “I don’t believe the rumors, and I don’t understand why you’re allowing them to circulate. You’re a fighter, not a coward. Why aren’t you defending yourself?”

  “Because it’s pointless to do so. And I don’t really care what anyone thinks of me.” He turned to her once more, staring down at her as he crossed his arms over his chest. “At least those marriage-minded mamas will turn their attention elsewhere. Not even the most desperate ones will encourage their daughters to marry a heartless killer.”

  She shook her head and sighed. “You know as well as I do that nothing, not even the hint of murder, will stop them. You’re a rich duke, too good a catch to slow down their chase even for a day.” She crossed her arms over her chest, mimicking his stance. “I know you didn’t hurt anyone. I know you wouldn’t ever harm an innocent. That’s why I came to find you. I thought it important to let you know that you have friends. You don’t have to fight every battle on your own.”

  “Consider the news delivered. Now go back inside and leave me alone.”

  “What you need,” she said with a deflated grumble, “is a swift kick to your backside. However, what you need more is someone to put their arms around you, to hug you fiercely and let you know that they believe you. That they believe in you.”

  “You’re not that person, Dillie.”

  The comment hurt, but she refused to let it show. “Perhaps not, but you’d better allow someone good into your life or you’ll become just like your mother. Cold and bitter.”

  Oh, I’ve really crossed the line this time.

  He moved close enough to take her by the arms and shake her soundly. Surprisingly, he didn’t. His own arms remained folded over his chest, which only accentuated his broad shoulders.

  “Go away, Dillie.” His arms were like a closed gate through which no one would be allowed to pass.

  Would Ian ever allow anyone in?

  ***

  Ian was so hungry for Dillie he wanted to devour her. She wasn’t a typical ton beauty, tall, blonde, and elegant with boring conversation and a calculating heart. She was a soft-hearted little snoop with big blue eyes that set his heart pounding whenever she glanced at him. She had a body that made him ache to hold her, and dark, silky hair he yearned to slip through his fingers.

  He didn’t want to think about that soft, kissable mouth of hers.

  Unfortunately, all he could do was think about that mouth and how soft it would feel against his lips as he kissed her into eternity. Hell. He wasn’t merely thinking days, months, or years with Dillie. He was thinking a lifetime and beyond. Eternity.

  This was bad. He hadn’t even slept with the girl. Nor would he. Not ever.

  He kept his arms crossed firmly over his chest, fighting the urge to give in to all his damn urges and sweep her into his embrace, plant his lips on hers, and pour his heart and soul into one long, wild kiss.

  More than one long, wild kiss.

  Plenty of them. Wickedly wild, hot kisses.

  She mistook his silence for disapproval. He knew by the way she sighed and dejectedly slumped her shoulders. In the next moment, her gentle hand was on his arm again. What was wrong with the girl? It would take nothing for him to ruin her reputation. Merely being caught alone with him, as they were now, would be enough to raise eyebrows. It could destroy her chances with Charles Ealing. The clunch would not be pleased to find them together.

  Apparently, Dillie wasn’t concerned. Was she even thinking of Charles?

  She gazed up at him again, and he knew what she was going to ask before she’d opened her mouth to speak again. The girl loved family. The girl had a big, generous heart. She was thinking of Felicity.

  He had to redirect her mothering instincts. He’d buy her a cocker spaniel to nurture, one with big, chocolate brown eyes and a happily wagging tail.

  “If Felicity isn’t your child, then whose is she?”

  “None of your business.”

  “But—”

  He fully turned to face her, now so close he could smell the scent of peaches in her hair. He felt a surge of anger—not aimed at her, of course. She squeezed his arm lightly, as though sensing his anguish. He was desperate to suppress all feeling. He was hurting. Dillie made him hurt. Dillie made him wish for things that were impossible.

  Dillie almost made him feel good about himself.

  He hated the feeling.

  He wanted her to believe the lies his mother had been spewing. He wanted her to be angry with him, to condemn him and call him a lying bastard. He’d dealt with hatred all of his life. He knew how to handle it. He’d never received support and assurance. Until now. Until Dillie. She believed in him.

  He didn’t know how to respond to that.

  He was afraid to respond to that.

  If he let her in, he’d inevitably disappoint her as he’d disappointed all who had ever mattered in his life. “Stop trying to save me, Dillie. I don’t give a bloody damn what anyone thinks of me.”

  She sighed. “But I do. I can’t seem to help myself. Do you want to know why?”

  He kept silent.

  “I’ll tell you anyway. It’s these words my father often says—though they’re meant to apply to his business dealings, the caution is appropriate for friendships and other matters of the he
art. He says that people don’t change.” She paused again, obviously hoping he’d respond. He wasn’t going to encourage the girl.

  “So,” she continued, “I’ve given quite a bit of thought to what you are. Would you care to know what I think?”

  “The answer is still no. Stop meddling in my business.”

  She let out a short, sweet laugh. “You forget that I’m a Farthingale. I can’t help meddling. It’s what we Farthingales do best. Snooping, prying, it’s in our blood. Taking care of family is also in our blood. I can help. We all can help. Felicity—”

  “Not this time. I know you mean well, but you needn’t worry about the child. I have a capable staff to attend to her every need.”

  She shook her head. “That’s where you’re wrong. The child needs more than a roof over her head and food for nourishment. A child needs love. Lots of it. Something I suspect you’ve never had.” She arched an eyebrow and cast him a gentle grin. “See how pitifully you turned out. Is that what you wish for Felicity?”

  Despite his efforts, he laughed. “Did I mention you were stubborn and insufferable?”

  She rolled her eyes. Lord, she had beautiful eyes. “Too many times to count. How old is she?”

  He groaned inwardly. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “No, not until I have my way. I’ll stay here as long as it takes.” She glanced toward the ballroom. The first dance of the evening was about to end. Guests were starting to drift to the doors and would soon be on the terrace, seeking the cool outdoors. “I’m not worried about my reputation. My family is too wealthy to be snubbed. So am I, though I won’t come into my funds until I’m twenty-five, or sooner if I marry.”

  He held up his hands, as though in surrender. “Very well. I’ll answer the question, if only to be rid of you. Felicity is about six months old now, just a little younger than Ivy. She isn’t mine, though no one will believe it because of the family resemblance. Felicity is my niece.”