Redemption of the Duke

by Gayle Callen

  “I want that,” he said with urgency.

  “This can’t be love, Adam. You want me like a possession, something you have to have for yourself. You’re smothering me! You’ve taken away my freedoms from the beginning—my God, you tricked me into renouncing my first position, and I forgave you, thinking you’d learned your lesson. I forgave you for the mistakes that led to my brother’s death. I was such a fool.”

  Wildly, she headed for the door, then realized she was in her own room. She turned and pointed to the far door. “I need you to leave.”

  “Faith—”

  “I can’t talk anymore. Please go.”

  “I will, but we will be finishing this discussion in the morning.”

  When he left, she started packing without even giving it another thought. She couldn’t stay there in a loveless marriage where her husband had no problem manipulating her.

  There was a knock on her door.

  Frowning, she said, “Who is it?”

  “Ellen, ma’am. His Grace sent for me, said you might have need of me.”

  And he was right, though he probably didn’t know what for. “Come in.”

  Ellen came to a stop on seeing the clothes spread out all over the bed. “Your Grace?”

  “I’m leaving, Ellen. For good.”

  “Then I’m coming with you.”

  Faith stared at her. “But . . . I don’t even know where I’m going. You don’t need to—”

  “You believed in me, ma’am. That’s all I care about. Now move aside and let me fetch your satchel.”

  For endless minutes, Faith had been trying not to cry, and now this girl’s kindness had her eyes stinging. “Thank you, Ellen,” she said, her voice choked.

  “Let me do this, while you go speak with Lady Duncan.”

  Faith almost protested, not wanting anyone to stop her, but she owed an explanation. “You’re right. I’ll be back.”

  At the countess’s door, she knocked softly, wondering if the elderly woman was still awake. When she heard her respond, she opened the door to find the room ablaze with lights, the lady seated at her writing table, turban on her head, wrapped in a voluminous dressing gown.

  “Faith, what a pleasant surprise!”

  “Good evening, Lady—Aunt Theodosia.”

  As she came into the light, Aunt Theodosia’s smile faded. “What is it, dear?”

  The first tears fell down her cheek. “I have to leave,” she said in a broken voice. “I can’t stay here with him anymore.”

  Aunt Theodosia reached for her hand and pulled her to the chair nearest her own. “You’ve been so happy! You’re both radiant together. I never imagined seeing Adam so at peace.”

  “I—I do not want to speak ill of your nephew, my lady. Suffice it to say that he lied to me about something gravely important. I can’t be with a man who doesn’t respect me.”

  “Surely you can discuss it calmly.”

  She shook her head, the tears continuing to drip from her cheeks to her bodice.

  Aunt Theodosia handed her a handkerchief. “I insist you tell me or, harsh as it is, I shall not permit you to go. And if you’re going, you’ll need my help, for where else will you stay?”

  Faith started to cry, and the whole tale about the compromise spilled out.

  Aunt Theodosia put her arms around her for a fierce hug. “There, there, dear. I totally understand how you’re feeling. And though you don’t want to hear it, I understand my nephew’s thinking as well, foolish as it is. He loves you, and is desperate to hold on to you and keep you safe.”

  “That’s not love, Aunt. And even if he believes it is love, he hasn’t learned one thing from it. He humiliated me, more than once, and I won’t stand for that. I’ll go to a hotel if I have to, although I imagine that would cause talk.”

  “It would,” Aunt Theodosia said with a sigh. “Could you not just move back to your old room while you work this out?”

  “And stare at the duchess’s smirking face every day? Let Adam believe I’ll just accept whatever he does? No.”

  “Then you should go to Mrs. Evans’s. You remember her from the women’s rights meetings?”

  “I do.”

  “She thought you a diligent worker and a gifted writer. And she’d do anything for me, of course.”

  “Will she mind if Ellen goes with me?”

  “Of course not. But she does retire early. I believe you should wait until morning.”

  Faith bit her lip. “I’m afraid he might make a scene trying to keep me here. He always thinks he knows best,” she added bitterly.

  “I will make sure he does not. If you leave at dawn, Mrs. Evans will certainly be awake. And she will be discreet.”

  “Thank you. If you need me before then, I will be in my old room.”

  Aunt Theodosia sighed, her wrinkled face drooping in sorrow. “I’m so sorry, dear. But promise me you will not refuse to see him, that you will give your marriage the chance to recover.”

  She hesitated. “I might need time to get over this terrible grief. How can I talk to him if I’m doing nothing but crying?”

  “You must truly love him.”

  Faith felt the stark pain of that. “What does it matter? My love is not returned.”

  Sleeping in her old bedroom, she tossed and turned through the night. At dawn, she and Ellen flagged down a hackney, and then Rothford Court was behind her. It was for the best, even though her heart thought otherwise.

  Adam wasn’t even dressed when he heard a knock. His spirit lightened until he realized it wouldn’t be Faith, because it came from the outer door.

  “Come in,” he said, tightening the belt on his dressing gown.

  Aunt Theodosia stood there, hands on her hips. “You great big fool, she’s left.”

  He blinked. “I know she returned to her old room, but—”

  “No, left. She’s out front, looking for a hackney.”

  “What? Did you know sooner?” He ran for the bellpull and gave it a yank.

  “Last night. Don’t worry, I know where she’s going, but she left even earlier than I imagined.”

  “She needs a man with her.”

  “You can send one to Mrs. Evans’s town house.”

  He grimaced. “That old bat? She’ll fill Faith’s head full of nonsense.”

  Aunt Theodosia puffed out her bosom. “The nonsense that both Faith and I believe in? No wonder she left you!”

  “What did she say to you?”

  “Everything—that you manipulated her ruin.”

  “That is a terrible way to put it.”

  “But it’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  He sighed, hands on his hips.

  “You made an awful mistake,” she said gently, sadly.

  “I see that now. I’ll fix things.”

  “I don’t know if you can.”

  He froze on the way to his dressing room, then said over his shoulder, “Don’t say that, Aunt.”

  His valet arrived, and Adam requested Hales to attend him. He wished Aunt Theodosia would leave and take her condemning stare with her, but he wouldn’t throw her out. He walked into his dressing room and started to change. Hales was there before he’d done more than put on trousers, so he sent the young man to stand outside Mrs. Evans’s residence and watch over Faith.

  He felt sick with worry, despondent that he’d made so many thoughtless mistakes, assuming he knew best. What the hell did he know—he couldn’t even find one persistent blackguard.

  Faith’s rejection stung him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He’d grown up with rejection, had brothers who ganged up against him, so one would have thought he’d be immune to it. He was not going to let this happen. He and Faith belonged together.

 
He wasn’t certain how any of this had happened. He’d worked hard to help Faith without being that impulsive man again, that man who jumped into an idea without enough thought. He’d taken deliberate steps to protect her from the blackguard, had gotten her away from terrible employers. And then he’d realized he was falling in love with her. He’d spent days trying to get her to marry him, before succumbing to a last-resort solution.

  And they were happy—he’d been happier than he’d ever been in his whole life.

  He emerged from his dressing room to find his aunt calmly seated, both hands resting on her cane.

  “I still can’t believe you let her go alone,” he grumbled.

  “She’s not alone—Ellen is with her.”

  He rounded on his aunt. “You know I’ve been suspicious of that girl. And I received another note threatening to call my duchess a whore in front of all of London.”

  He expected the old girl to flinch, but she only narrowed her eyes.

  And then he remembered. “Wait. Faith told Ellen she was keeping her on permanently, even before I received the final note. Ellen was relieved and happy, or so I’ve been told.”

  “Then she wouldn’t have written such a terrible letter, Adam. I can’t believe it of her—this person hasn’t even asked for money, which could be the only motive for a poor girl like her.”

  He nodded, but inside, everything that had happened was finally sinking in. He’d driven Faith away without telling her she might be in danger, all because he’d wanted to keep her in a happy little cocoon of innocence. He hadn’t been able to protect her innocence from her brother’s death, and now he hadn’t been able to protect her. He’d driven her away, when all he’d wanted was to be married to her, to be happy.

  Was compromising her truly all about him, as she’d accused?

  But he couldn’t name and reflect on his sins, not now. Her protection was all that mattered.

  “Aunt Theodosia, it’s time to confront the suspects once and for all. Since I can’t get proof—I can only judge them in person.”

  “Perhaps you should inform Faith at last.”

  That went against everything inside him. “I can’t cause her any more pain than I already have. Let me first make this last attempt.”

  She nodded, her expression skeptical.

  “Tell the family whatever you think best about Faith.”

  “I think it’s best to be somewhat honest.”

  “Fine,” he said coolly.

  Shenstone wouldn’t agree to meet with him that day unless he fenced, so, gritting his teeth, Adam stood in the entrance hall and put on his gloves midmorning, ready to go confront his old friend. So far he’d avoided his mother and everyone else, so he didn’t have any idea who knew what about his marriage.

  “But why did she leave?”

  Adam froze upon hearing the plaintive voice of his ten-year-old niece. She was in the family drawing room, the door partially ajar.

  “Faith is upset.”

  The voice belonged to none other than Marian, speaking in the kindest tones he’d ever heard from her.

  “She and your uncle had a disagreement. I’m certain they will talk soon and resolve everything.”

  “Are you sure?” Frances demanded, her voice anguished.

  “No one can ever be sure, dear, but we will pray for them.”

  Pray that I can overcome being a fool, he thought.

  At the academy, Adam changed into breeches and a loose shirt, then entered the practice room he’d requested. Shenstone was already there, rapier in his hand, chest protector and mask carelessly piled on a bench.

  Adam held up his mask questioningly, but Shenstone shook his head. Gritting his teeth, angry that this confrontation was even necessary, Adam tossed his own mask away.

  “Can we talk before we fence?” he demanded.

  “Say what you need to say,” Shenstone said idly, his curly auburn hair already damp with perspiration, as if he’d been practicing.

  Adam sensed something being held back, and he was sick of it. “Then I’ll just say it. I’ve been getting notes from someone anonymous, threatening to reveal something from my wife’s past.”

  Shenstone’s eyes narrowed, his sword stilled, but he said nothing.

  “This blackguard doesn’t want money, just wants to feel his power over me, and maybe humiliate my wife by revealing everything.”

  “And you didn’t think to confide this in me before?” Shenstone demanded.

  “You’ve been so angry with me, and I couldn’t see why. So I can’t help asking—are you the one sending those letters, bribing little street urchins to bring them to me?”

  His dark eyes went wide. “You think I—your oldest friend—would—that I would—”

  With a groan of frustration, he thrust his sword wildly. Though the tip was buttoned, if Adam hadn’t parried, he still might have been seriously bruised. But maybe that’s what Shenstone wanted, after goading him into not wearing his chest protector.

  “Is that a yes?” Adam demanded between gritted teeth, launching his own attack.

  Shenstone fell back. “No!” he shouted, thrusting forward again. “If I had such a problem with you, I would come to you directly!”

  “How can I believe that?” Adam demanded, slashing stroke after stroke, forcing his friend on the defensive. “You’ve been angry for weeks over something you refuse to talk to me about.”

  “That’s different. It’s over a woman!”

  “And my wife is a woman!” He slashed Shenstone along the upper arm, catching himself enough to leave a welt beneath his damaged shirt, but not pierce the skin.

  Shenstone stepped back, breathing heavily. “I didn’t . . . do this thing . . . Rothford,” he said between breaths. “And I’ll tell you right now . . . why I am furious with you—it’s over Lady Emmeline.”

  Adam slowly let his sword tip sink to the floor. “Emmeline? Sophia’s friend? What does she have to do with anything?”

  “You used her badly!”

  “I did not!” Adam shouted back. “I never courted the girl, never let her think anything other than that we were friends. She was a child when I was gone, and I’ve barely been back.”

  “I was courting her, and you returned and it was as if I didn’t exist anymore,” Shenstone said grimly.

  Adam straightened. “That is what you’re upset about? I’ve never wanted her, would never have taken her away from you. I could have told you all of this if you’d asked.”

  Shenstone groaned and spun away, slashing the air with his sword. “It’s all her. She’s fixated on you and your damned title. You’ve always gotten whatever woman you fancied.”

  “And did you not want me to have Faith?” Adam asked, lowering his voice as relief began to replace his anger.

  “I didn’t give a damn about Faith. I’m glad you have her. But Emmeline—she’s still distraught, and nothing I say makes a difference.”

  “Maybe you should give her some time to realize I was never going to be hers.”

  Shenstone mumbled something and slashed the air again, but all the fight between them sizzled and died.

  “What about Sophia?” Adam asked.

  Shenstone hesitated. “That, you need to talk to her about. It’s . . . not what you think.” He sighed. “So what’s this about anonymous notes you thought I wrote?”

  “Well, I didn’t really believe it, but you were acting so angry, and I didn’t have a clue why. I’m relieved you didn’t write them.” And he briefly elaborated, minus the more incriminating notions about Faith. “So all I can do is confront the people who’ve behaved oddly. There’s a childhood friend of Faith’s I’m still investigating.”

  “Did you have me investigated?” Shenstone asked, lip curling with amusement.

&n
bsp; “No, though I did have you followed.”

  “I shook him off.”

  “You did not. You didn’t even see him.”

  They slowly grinned at each other.

  Adam held out a hand. “Forgive me my idiocy?”

  Shenstone took it. “Forgive me my jealousy?”

  They shook a little too hard, gripping tight, until at last Shenstone winced. “Damn, your grip strengthened in India. Is it something in the water?”

  Adam smiled, but it faded quickly. “I’ve already blown everything, you know. Faith left me.”

  “The lady’s companion left a duke?”

  “I’m not much of a prize,” Adam said, shrugging. “I’ll find a way to make up for my sins and bring her home. And I’ll stay away from Emmeline while I do.”

  Shenstone rolled his eyes and said dryly, “Wonderful. Thanks.”

  Adam clapped his friend on the back, but already his mind was thinking ahead. One by one, he’d ruled people out—except Timothy Gilpin.

  Chapter 23

  That first morning at Mrs. Evans’s, Faith found herself alone most of the time, the lady respectful of her mourning for her marriage. She paced her bedroom for hours, thinking she’d been alone for the last few years, had briefly become part of a family, and now she was alone again.

  She’d felt almost safe, even . . . loved, strange as it seemed, though he’d never said the words. And she really must love him, or his behavior wouldn’t hurt so much. It was as if her future had turned dark with foreboding, barren and lifeless without his warmth, without his smile.

  Oh, she was absolutely maudlin in her infatuation.

  Late in the afternoon, there was a knock on the door and she tensed, but it was only Ellen. Much as the girl had wanted to attend her, she seemed distraught in the unfamiliar house.

  Ellen peered out the window, obviously trying to be subtle, but not succeeding. “That man is still out there, Your Grace.”

  Faith frowned and joined her at the window.

  “I went down the block a ways,” Ellen said hesitatingly, “and came back upon him unawares. He’s one of our footmen—Hales—so you don’t have to worry.”