Dukes In Disguise

by Grace Burrowes, Susanna Ives, Emily Greenwood

  He strode down the corridor past Mrs. Primrose’s door. It was slightly ajar, a slant of gold light bleeding into the corridor. “Dearest, Mr. Stephens cares for you a great deal. He loves you. He looks at you like your father looked at me.”

  Lucere paused. Were the emotions he struggled to conceal apparent to everyone? He shouldn’t listen. It was ungentlemanly. But he remained rooted to the spot, his breath bated as he awaited Estella’s response.

  “He is so very kind, but a poor tutor,” Estella said.

  “My dear,” responded her mother, “if he has truly captured your heart, then you should marry him. You said the lodging house is running well. Amelia and Cecelia are so lovely, I’m sure they will be established in a year or two. Do not sacrifice your happiness.”

  “He has not asked for my hand,” Estella stated flatly.

  “Perhaps had you shown him a little encouragement. You didn’t give him a smile or tiny flirtation. And the poor besotted gentleman couldn’t stop looking at you, searching for one little sign of affection. Men are scared creatures beneath their bravado, my dear. They need encouragement and love.”

  Lucere felt no older than the toddler clinging to Catherine’s hand. I love my little boy most in the entirety of England.

  “Alas, I have no opinion of him,” he heard Estella say. “The truth is, I do not love him.”

  Those words weren’t heard but felt. They had jagged edges and brutal force.

  He had shown Estella his true self, albeit under the guise of Mr. Stephens. And he wasn’t good enough for her. She didn’t love him. How could she? Her heart, so like Catherine’s, brimmed with love and kindness. His was filled with cowardliness, years of terrible mistakes, and darkness.

  The door opened fully, and Estella stepped out. “Mr. Stephens!”

  He hadn’t the power to compose himself. Whatever look he gave her caused her to reach for him in alarm. “Oh no!”

  He couldn’t even muster the pretense of merely passing by, of not hearing her and her mother’s conversation. “Good night, Miss Primrose,” he whispered.

  He hadn’t felt so bereft since Catherine died. He turned away from her and walked to his chamber. He shouldn’t feel so dejected, but should rejoice that he was free of her with so little effort. After all, no marriage could exist between them.

  Yet, this knowledge gave him no consolation. Her rejection of him before her mother only further proved his worthlessness. Without his title, he possessed nothing to recommend himself.

  His days of Mr. Stephens would end tomorrow. He couldn’t bear being the man a moment longer.

  Chapter Eleven

  * * *

  That night Lucere dreamed of the horses. He was a boy again, holding his jellies as the runaway cart turned the corner. Minutes and minutes elapsed in the unreal world of his dreams. The horses galloped, their mouths foaming. Powdery dirt sprayed from where their hooves pounded the earth. But the faster they ran, the farther they seemed away. He leisurely ate his orange jelly and then the lemon one.

  “Oh no, Mr. Stephens!” Estella cried. But when he turned to the sound of her voice, he found Catherine standing on the pavement, wildly waving her arms. Then time sped up. The horses were inches from his face now. “Lord Stephen!” Catherine cried. Her hands shoved him, and he sailed in the air to fall onto the hard cobbles. He rolled and rolled, his jellies decorating the air around him. Although only two horses drove the cart, it seemed like a thousand hooves ran over Catherine, bouncing her broken body against the stones.

  He screamed but couldn’t make a sound. Then the horses were gone. Catherine lay still in a gleaming, unstained white gown, red blood gushing from her temple. Lucere rose from the street, no longer a boy but a grown man. As he approached his nurse, he realized that the woman lying in the road had blond hair. It wasn’t Catherine at all, but—

  Lucere bolted up in bed, his cry echoing around him. He gulped for air as he reassured himself it was just a dream of a horrible memory. He slid from his bed and strolled across the frigid floor to the window. He opened it and let the night air cool his face. The night sky was velvet blue against the black outline of Lesser Puddlebury. No lights burned from the buildings; there was no noise but crickets and wind. In sleepless London, he would have reached for a courtesan or become lushy in a gaming hell to distract his mind. Now he had to stay with the memory, reliving each detail until the pain slowly receded.

  * * *

  His hands were shaking as he arranged the utensils on the breakfast table. Harris was silent. He seemed to know this was the day that Lucere would make his fateful pronouncement. Lucere’s dream had broken any anger or resentment. Now, only sadness remained. He would mourn the loss of his and Estella’s easy, equal friendship, as well as hundreds of other things about her.

  Lottie entered with a platter of fried eggs. She didn’t put them on the table, but hurried to him and threw her arms around him. “I love you, Mr. Stephens.”

  “I love you too,” he whispered. How like a little family the inhabitants of the lodging house had become to him. He removed the platter from Lottie’s hand and was carefully restoring the eggs that slid near the edges when he realized that Estella was present. She leaned against the threshold, her face swollen and her eyes red-rimmed. His own concerns petered away. He dropped the dish on the table with a clatter.

  “Good God, Estella, are you well?”

  “W-would you care to join me on a stroll after breakfast, Mr. Stephens? I know a place that you would enjoy.”

  * * *

  The morning air was crisp on Estella’s cheeks. She and Mr. Stephens silently strolled through the back garden, neither touching the other. She racked her mind for something casual to say to break the miserable, raw silence. But it was the clever Mr. Stephens who spoke first.

  “I greatly admire your jungle, Miss Primrose,” he said, surveying the garden that had been given up on years ago. In older times, it had been a lovely labyrinth. Now the bordering shrubbery had grown to the size of small trees.

  “Have you ever lost a lodger in here?” he inquired.

  “Five or six. I’ve lost count.”

  He chuckled nervously. She gazed up at him and smiled. In a twinkling, all the awkward tension that had ruined breakfast fell away. Her dear friend had returned.

  “Oh, Mr. Stephens.” She took his hand, interlacing their fingers. It was improper, but she needed the reassurance of his touch. She had wept through the night, believing she had hurt his feelings.

  “Ah, you said house parties and such drew away your guests for the summer,” he reminded her, “but perhaps they are merely lost, wandering around your jungle.”

  How she and he rubbed so perfectly along. She could imagine years of side-by-side strolls and laughter. But it could never be.

  This sad thought caused her to quicken her pace until they reached the edge of the forest. Brambles had grown over the old path. She eased into the tangle, glad she had thought to wear her apron, else her gown would be snagged beyond saving.

  “I’m getting rather nervous now,” Mr. Stephens said, pulling aside tree limbs as he and she progressed into the wood. “Luckily, I told Mr. Harris that I was walking with you should you have nefarious intentions.”

  In the effort to make a quick rejoinder, the wrong words burst from Estella. “Should I calm your fears, or leave you to your own dark imaginings?”

  His head jerked back as though she had slapped him.

  “I’m sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t mean… let me show you the secret place. You will enjoy it.”

  They wove around trees and brush until they reached the ancient spreading oak where she had carved the letters.

  “Ah, a mysterious code.” He feigned a shadowy voice.

  “It’s my initials,” she explained. She glanced about, seeing no trace of the old door. She walked forward, listening to the sound of her feet striking the earth. When a solid thud became a hollow thump, she knelt down and dug her gloved fingers into the
ground.

  He joined her. “The suspense! Are we digging for a hidden treasure?”

  “Of sorts.” She smiled. His happiness spilled into her.

  She had cleared enough of the soil that she could grip the old door. Together they tugged, lifting the wood, ripping apart roots. The sunlight filtering through the tree leaves lit a small, squat room that sparkled hues of luminous greens and blues.

  “What in heavens?” He lowered himself down and gingerly brushed the dirt away from the ancient art with his hand. “This… this is a Roman mosaic.”

  “I found it when I was eight. My grandfather believes it’s the floor of an old villa.”

  “It’s amazing.” He carefully revealed more of the geometric pattern.

  “I thought it would please you.”

  He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Oh, Estella,” he whispered. He reached up and touched her face. “You know me so well.”

  She leaned into his touch, drawing strength to say what she needed him to know.

  “I wanted to tell you”—her voice cracked—“that I lied to my mother last night. I think you heard the conversation.”

  “Don’t, I shouldn’t have—”

  “My mother doesn’t know the extent of our financial troubles. I’ve protected her. The physician said she shouldn’t become excited because of her weak heart. I told her that I had no affections for you. But the truth is…” She forged on, despite her tightening throat. “As a lady of good conscience, I cannot trifle with the affections of a gentleman of modest means, no matter how respectable or kind he is, or how much I care for him.” She paused, her eyes growing wet. “Please don’t be upset. Know that you are the most wonderful gentleman I have ever met. And if I’ve seemed indifferent…” Tears threaded down her cheeks.

  “No,” he whispered and tried to brush them away with his thumb.

  “It’s because I’ve fallen in love with you. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh God, Estella.”

  He combed his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head, and drawing her close. She should stop him. Didn’t she hurt enough? She closed her eyes, surrendering to him and the damage she would do to her heart.

  His mouth caressed hers, lulling away her reserve. His tongue licked her lips and then surprised her by slowly entering her mouth. Was this how true lovers kissed when they were alone?

  She followed his tutorage, stroke for stroke. He moaned and brought her closer, widening her mouth, his pace quickening. Her mind quieted as her body awakened with a powerful yearning. She knew how infants were created between a man and a woman. The act sounded so undignified that she believed it to be another chore a wife must perform to keep a husband. But Mr. Stephens was rapidly changing her mind. Her nipples were straining for his touch. Her insides throbbed, ready to welcome his sex inside.

  She released a high whimper. He withdrew from her mouth and gazed at her. His eyes were filled with such tenderness. He lightly touched her face, drawing his fingers along its contours. “You are truly beautiful,” he whispered. “But your face pales to the exquisiteness of your heart.”

  “I love you,” she cried. “I love you very much indeed.” And then she burst into embarrassing sobs. Their force shocked her, years and years of tension erupting forth like volcanic tears.

  “No, no.” He tried to bring her back to him. “Tell me, what is the matter? How much money do you owe? Who is this Mr. Todd? Tell me, everything. I can help you.”

  Poor Mr. Stephens. He didn’t deserve to be entangled in the wreck that was her life.

  “I’m sorry.” She came to her feet. “Please enjoy the mosaic. I knew you would like it.” She rushed toward her home. She wished she hadn’t been so weak.

  He called behind her, “Estella, wait for me. There is something you must know.”

  She couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t let him become further entwined in her problems. Branches whipped her legs and arms as she ran. She could hear him calling her name as he pushed through the bramble. She quickened her step, skirting the back garden, and hurrying along the side of the house. As she entered through the front door, she almost collided with Mr. Todd, who was coming out of the parlor.

  “She is here, after all,” he said affably to his male companion.

  Beside Mr. Todd stood a slight, graying man with limp whiskers growing beneath his cheekbones. He was dressed in somber clothes and sported a gold watch chain. She recognized him as Mr. Jenkins, a local landowner and the justice of the peace.

  The realization of what was about to occur sank in.

  Dear Lord, not today. She wasn’t strong enough.

  Mr. Jenkins had the power to send her to debtors’ prison. The edge of Mr. Todd’s mouth was raised in triumph. He had finally pulled his trump card. The future she had worked so hard to outwit was descending.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked Mr. Todd. “I thought… I thought you were in York.”

  “I found reason to cut my stay short,” he said.

  The front door flew open again. “Estella!” cried Mr. Stephens. He stopped in his progress, taking in the other men.

  “Who are you?” Mr. Todd rudely inquired, not waiting for an introduction.

  Mr. Stephens must have sensed something amiss. His eyes glittered with menace. Estella saw a nasty retort forming on his lips and quickly interceded. She had witnessed Mr. Todd’s vicious underside too many times and feared the man. “This is my lodger, Mr. Stephens. He’s a tutor.”

  Mr. Todd raked Mr. Stephens up and down. “Collect your belongings and leave,” he hissed.

  “This is my home, Mr. Todd!” she cried.

  “No, it’s mine.” Mr. Todd grabbed her wrist. “I told you, no more of this lodging-house madness. Now, you will go to the parlor this instant.”

  “You don’t speak to her that way,” Mr. Stephens growled.

  The cold hate on Mr. Todd’s face terrified her. She placed herself between the angry men to protect her lodger.

  “I say,” Mr. Jenkins remarked, taken aback by his friend’s hostility. Mr. Todd showed his false colors to his neighbors.

  Mr. Todd collected himself. “I’m sorry, Miss Primrose. I fear greatly for your reputation. It has been damaged enough. I’ve come to help you. Let us go to the parlor and talk.”

  “Please—please, excuse me, Mr. Stephens,” Estella said, keeping her eyes low. She was embarrassed to have him witness this scene.

  “Do you want to speak to these men?” Mr. Stephens’s neck tendons corded. She could feel his pent-up fury and feared he would lash out before the justice of the peace.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Come, Mr. Todd.”

  She allowed the banker to escort her to the parlor with Mr. Jenkins trailing behind.

  Chapter Twelve

  * * *

  “Won’t you sit down?” Mr. Todd led Estella to the sofa. He performed the pretty for the sake of the justice of the peace.

  Mr. Jenkins didn’t take the offered wing chair across from her, but knelt down until they were at eye level. He spoke in a discreet whisper. “Mr. Todd has come to me regarding your significant debt to him.”

  “I have more money now. I can pay him.”

  “Do you have the 3,120 pounds you owe?” Mr. Jenkins responded.

  “No. Enough for an installment. I mean, the installment that I am late paying.”

  “Miss Primrose, the state of your finances is no secret,” Mr. Jenkins said, shaking his head. “You owe many merchants in this town.” He rose, hooked his thumbs into his waistband, and leaned back onto his heels. “Now, I know how you ladies are. You like to assume airs you don’t have and think a prince will save you like in the fairy tales you so love.” He chuckled.

  Estella dug her nails into the upholstery, trying hard to hold back a retort to such patronizing words.

  “Mr. Todd has been most patient with you, young lady,” Mr. Jenkins continued. “He is rightly concerned that if you persist in your folly, you will irrevocably damage the
prospects of your sisters and worsen your mother’s delicate health. Now, I don’t want to be the one to take your mother to debtors’ prison.”

  “What?” Her head turned to Mr. Todd, who waited by the window, pretending he had no responsibility in this matter. He was here merely to be her hero. “You would send my mother to debtors’ prison?”

  “It is your mother’s home,” Mr. Jenkins answered for him, resuming his discreet whispering. What strangers in the room would hear him? “Mr. Todd tells me that it is her lodging house on paper.”

  She shook her head, disbelieving how low a man would crawl.

  “I’m going to tell you what I would tell my own daughters,” Mr. Jenkins said. “You need to let go of your fancies and marry a man who will provide for you and be your wise master. Mr. Todd is a generous gentleman. His patience towards you speaks of his goodness.”

  Mr. Jenkins strode to Mr. Todd and placed his hand on the banker’s shoulder, as though he were anointing him. “If you marry Mr. Todd, he can restore your reputation and your sisters’, which have suffered by merely being your relation. For in truth, it is oft acknowledged that a child or sister be dead than bring dishonor to her family.”

  Estella sucked in her breath at such an offensive statement. It burned to her core that she must sit and accept such hatefulness.

  “You are obligated to Mr. Todd in every sense, and yet, you neglect your female responsibility, instead carelessly allowing your virtue to be sullied.”

  Estella could stand no more. If she must marry Mr. Todd, she needn’t suffer any more of these gentlemen’s smug self-righteousness. “Thank you, I believe…” She struggled for the words. “I believe I would like to be alone with Mr. Todd now.”

  “Very good.” Mr. Jenkins shook Mr. Todd’s hand in congratulations and left the room.