All I Want for Christmas Is a Duke

by Vivienne Lorret

  Nathan could have been knocked over with a pin. “Your mother says I’m wonderful? Often?” He pointed at himself, nonplussed.

  Evangeline nodded. “Oh, yes. She’s forever telling me how handsome and intelligent and kind and generous you are.”

  If the girl sitting across from him hadn’t looked exactly like his Gena, he’d have been convinced her mother must have been someone other than his wife.

  “But what I don’t understand is, why didn’t Mother ever tell me about Gena? That is to say, Gena knew all about me.”

  “I cannot answer that, but I assume your mother didn’t want you to be sad that you and Gena never saw each other. I always told Gena that someday, you two would meet. I just never imagined it would be this . . . unexpected.”

  “But you and Mother both agreed to never see the other daughter?”

  “Evangeline, it’s not that I don’t—­” Nathan rubbed a hand across his face. “It’s not that you’re not welcome with me or that Gena is not welcome with your mother. We love you both, of course, but, you see, we had an agreement and—­”

  “I know, Father. Gena explained it to me. She told me that Grandmama—­that is, your mother—­told her that you and Mother decided long ago that you weren’t suited and therefore agreed to live apart and raise us separately.”

  “Precisely.” Nathan nodded. He desperately wanted to change the subject. Something else she’d said had niggled at him. “Tell me, Evangeline. Who is Uncle Tony? To my knowledge, your mother doesn’t have a brother, and neither do I.”

  “Oh, Uncle Tony isn’t really my uncle. He’s Mother’s dear friend who visits us and brings us presents and tells the most clever jokes.”

  Nathan blinked and sucked in his breath. Damn it all to hell. Was his wife cuckolding him in the country?

  Chapter Eight

  ELIZABETH STARED OUT the window at the copious amounts of snow falling from the ever-­darkening sky. “Evie, dear, won’t you play the pianoforte? My nerves are quite on edge. If this snow doesn’t let up, Uncle Tony won’t make it to spend Christmastide with us.”

  Gena blinked. “Uncle Tony? Oh, yes, yes. Uncle Tony.”

  Elizabeth considered her choices. She was beginning to understand just how stubborn Gena could be. After downing another half a bowl of sherbet lemons and insisting that Sampson must be losing his sight in his old age, the girl had steadfastly refused to admit to her deception. She’d suffered through an entirely awkward horseback ride during which Elizabeth had been constantly in fear of the poor girl flying from the sidesaddle. Perhaps Gena would finally be forced to admit defeat if she wasn’t as adept at playing the pianoforte as Evie was.

  Five minutes later, Elizabeth realized her daughter hadn’t moved toward the instrument that sat across the room. “Evie, won’t you play something for me?”

  “Oh, um, Mother, I . . . I find my fingers are too cold to play at present.”

  Elizabeth lifted a brow. “Your fingers are too cold?” She glanced at the fireplace behind the instrument. “I daresay it’s warmer over there than it is sitting here on the sofa.”

  Gena bit her lip and nodded. “Very well.” She stood slowly, made a grand show of smoothing her skirts, and finally picked her way over to the pianoforte, approaching as if it had been a wild beast that might suddenly attack her. She finally took a seat on the bench in front of it and made an even grander show of arranging her skirts.

  “Go ahead, Evie,” Elizabeth prompted, shaking her head at the girl’s obvious attempt at stalling.

  Gena took a deep breath. She fluttered her fingers atop the ivory keys. Then she began to play, and the song that came out of the large instrument was a bawdy number that Elizabeth hadn’t heard in years, and then only because she’d caught one of the servants singing it when he’d been in his cups.

  The embroidery Elizabeth had been working on fell in a lump to her lap. “Evangeline! Where on earth did you learn that song?”

  The music came to an abrupt halt, and Gena winced at her mother guiltily across the wide expanse of the instrument. “School,” she offered with a shrug.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I cannot believe an establishment as renowned as Miss Hathaway’s School for Young Ladies allowed you to hear that.” Good heavens, what was Nathan teaching the girl?

  Gena plucked at her collar. “I, er, learned it from one of the girls there.”

  Elizabeth gave her a stern stare. “Remember, bad habits are adopted quickly.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Gena slid off the bench and skipped back over to her seat. “Perhaps I’ll just take a break from playing the pianoforte this afternoon.”

  “Perhaps that’s best.” Elizabeth returned her attention to her embroidery. Apparently, she’d be forced to find another way to get Gena to admit her identity. She grinned to herself. It would hardly be sporting to come right out and tell her she knew. Besides, the longer Elizabeth played along, the longer she could ignore the fact that Nathan would have to be summoned eventually.

  Several moments of silence passed before Gena said, “Mother, why did you and Father decide to live apart?”

  Elizabeth drew a deep breath. Very well. Whether Gena or Evie, the girl deserved to know the truth. “We didn’t suit.”

  “But why? Why didn’t you suit?”

  Elizabeth pulled the pin through her embroidery. “Your father is quite rigid, dear, and—­”

  “Oh, no! He’s ever so accommodating and kind and—­”

  Elizabeth cocked her head to the side and stared at the girl as if she’d lost her mind. “Pardon?”

  Gena glanced down at her hands. She fidgeted with her fingers. “I mean, I guess that he is. I should hope that he is. Did you ever love him, Mother?”

  Elizabeth glanced up and stared, unseeing, into the fireplace across the room. Her daughter deserved to know the truth there, too. “I did. Very, very much.”

  “How did you know it was love?” Gena asked in a dreamy voice, clasping her hands together in that endearing way of hers.

  Elizabeth stared into the flickering flames, memories colliding in her brain. “Your father had a party. A lovely, large party—­a ball, really—­at his town house in London.”

  Gena’s eyes were wide. “Father had a party?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Yes, does that surprise you?”

  “A little,” her daughter replied.

  “Be that as it may, he had a party and it was absolutely beautiful. It was a Midsummer Eve ball, and there were garlands and wreaths and flowers and twinkling candles. He’d turned his ballroom into a garden on a summer night. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

  Gena sighed. “It sounds lovely, Mother.”

  “Your father was courting me, but I had some other suitors.”

  Gena scowled. “You did?”

  “A few,” Elizabeth replied with a wink.

  Gena winked back at her.

  “When I arrived at his party, your father was so debonair. He was wearing black evening attire and a snowy white cravat, and well, he’s exceedingly handsome.”

  “Yes, he is. Isn’t he?” Gena cleared her throat. “I mean, I’m sure he is.”

  “He asked me to dance, and it was as if we were the only two ­people in the entire room. It smelled like flowers, and the candles twinkled like stars in the sky. And then . . .”

  Gena sat forward. “Then what?”

  “He took me out on the balcony and . . . oh, I shouldn’t tell you.”

  Gena leaned forward even farther. “What? You must tell me.”

  Elizabeth was surprised to discover her belly filled with butterflies. “He kissed me.”

  Gena nearly toppled off the settee. Her grin was irrepressible. “That’s the most romantic thing I ever heard.”

  “I should hope so, dear. You are only twelve.” Elizabeth smiled at
her daughter.

  “Then what happened?” Gena prompted.

  Elizabeth sighed and laid her head to the side to rest on one shoulder. “And then he asked me to marry him, and I said yes.”

  Gena pressed her hands to both cheeks. “Oh, Mother, how could you say you don’t suit?”

  Elizabeth lifted her head again and shook it. Her eyes refocused on her embroidery, her mind refocusing on the present, not the past. “It doesn’t matter, dear. When we met, it was lovely, but suffice it to say that we didn’t make each other happy. There’s more to a marriage than finding a rich, handsome nobleman.”

  The scowl returned to Gena’s sweet face. “But you haven’t seen him in years. How do you know you wouldn’t make each other happy now?”

  Elizabeth stared at Gena. When had her daughters become old enough and wise enough to ask her a probing question that she couldn’t answer? The truth was Elizabeth hadn’t thought about such a possibility before. Was it conceivable that Nathan Hollister had changed? She rubbed her fingers against her temples. No matter. There was no use in even contemplating it. She would never have the opportunity to find out.

  A knock sounded upon the door, and Broderick walked in. “Your Grace, a coach is approaching.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “Oh, thank heavens, Tony’s here. If he’d been any later, I daresay he wouldn’t have made it.” She stood and hurried toward the door. “Come with me to greet Uncle Tony, Evie. He’s been so looking forward to seeing you.”

  Elizabeth and Gena made their way to the foyer. When the carriage pulled up to the front of the house and the door opened, Elizabeth’s face fell. For it wasn’t the grand coach of the Earl of Atwater that sat like a fat little black duck in a sea of white in the front drive. It was an even grander coach that had arrived, one with the crest of the Duke of Hollingsworth.

  The blood drained from Elizabeth’s face. Her hand flew to her throat. “Your father,” she gasped.

  “My father?” her daughter gasped even louder from behind her.

  Chapter Nine

  AS SOON AS the coachman opened the door, Nathan secured his hat, adjusted his overcoat, and bounded out into the snowy drive. He turned back to the vehicle to look at Evie. She was preparing to follow him. “Wait here just a moment, won’t you, sweetheart?”

  She blinked at him. “Why, Father?”

  He pressed his hat down farther. “Because if I know Gena, she didn’t confess as easily as you did, and your mother may very well still believe she’s got you in there.”

  Evie visibly paled but nodded. “You’re right. Gena won’t be happy either when she learns that I confessed.”

  “She’ll manage.” Nathan smiled and pulled the furs closer to her chin. “I’ll just be a moment, and then I’ll send for you.”

  When the door to the great hall opened, the butler looked as if he’d seen a ghost. “Your . . . Your Grace?” Nathan handed him his coat and hat and stepped into the grand foyer of his childhood home. The place was familiar, of course, but it seemed fresher now, brighter, and it smelled like . . . sherbet lemons.

  “I must speak to your mistress immediately,” he said to the butler.

  “I’m here,” came a quiet yet firm female voice.

  Nathan swiveled to see her. Elizabeth stood a few paces away near the window, partially obscured by a large potted palm. He scanned the foyer. She was alone. Gena wasn’t with her. His gaze returned to Elizabeth. At least he thought she was Elizabeth, but the woman who faced him now was no thin, eighteen-­year-­old girl with a haunted, unhappy look in her eye. Instead, this woman was a fully grown beauty with plump cheeks, full hips, red lips, and glossy blond hair piled high atop her head. She was wearing a pretty blue gown that brought out the color in her cornflower eyes. The look in them was a bit wary, but there was humor there, too. Right then, he was convinced. She seemed like a woman who might secretly break into dance, Nathan thought with a wry smile.

  He shook his head. He’d been struck dumb at the sight of her. He briefly wondered what she thought of how his appearance had changed in the last dozen years. “Elizabeth . . . I—­”

  Her smooth forehead wrinkled into a frown. “I must say it’s not a complete surprise to see you.”

  He cocked his head to the side, not entirely sure what to make of her statement. “May I speak with you privately for a moment?”

  Elizabeth blushed a gorgeous peach color. She glanced at the butler. She’d obviously forgotten he was standing there. “Of course,” she replied. “Come with me.”

  Nathan followed her into the nearest drawing room, watching the gentle sway of her hips. Years ago, when they’d visited this place together, she’d seemed so timid in this house, like a mouse trapped in an oversized box, but now, he noted the way she gestured to Broderick to hang up Nathan’s coat and how easily she glided across the parquet floor with him in her wake. She was indeed the mistress of the house now.

  When they entered the drawing room, Nathan realized that her demeanor wasn’t the only change. He glanced around. The room had been a deep burgundy color the last time he was here. But Elizabeth had redecorated. Now it was styled in bright blues and white, a much more uplifting space, and one that also smelled like sherbet lemons, he noted with a smile. Gena’s favorite, too.

  He gestured to the sofa and allowed Elizabeth to take a seat first.

  “Where is Evangeline?” he asked, sitting across from Elizabeth in a nearby chair.

  Elizabeth eyed him cautiously. “Evangeline?” she repeatedly slowly. “She was directly behind me when your coach pulled up the drive, but she said she’d forgotten something in her room. I suspect she was a bit reluctant to see you. I told her it was your coach. You can’t blame the girl. Your visit is quite . . . unexpected, after all.”

  “I’m sure she was reluctant to see me,” he mumbled.

  Elizabeth cupped a hand behind her ear. “What was that?”

  Nathan shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Elizabeth didn’t meet his eyes. “Is Genevieve well?”

  “She’s . . . I believe she is well.”

  Elizabeth glanced up at him from beneath impossibly long, dark lashes. “Then . . . why have you come?”

  “I will get straight to the point.” Nathan took a deep breath. “It seems our girls have met. Met and tricked us, that is. The young lady you have here is Gena. Evie is waiting in my coach.”

  A gasp from behind the door to the drawing room made them both turn their heads a moment before they heard the sound of footsteps rushing in the opposite direction.

  “Gena!” Nathan stood to follow her, but Elizabeth reached up and put a hand on his arm.

  “Let her go.”

  “That was Genevieve,” he said.

  Elizabeth quickly pulled her hand away as if it had been burned. “I know that. I’ve known for two days, but what I truly want to know is . . . how?”

  Nathan paced toward the windows. “Gena has been at Miss Hathaway’s School for Young Ladies for a year now. I didn’t know you intended to enroll Evangeline.”

  Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “But your mother said—­”

  Nathan turned sharply to face her. “My mother? What did she have to do with it?”

  “She told me that Evie should matriculate at Miss Hathaway’s. She said it was her birthright.”

  Nathan clenched his jaw. “I had no idea you and my mother were in contact.”

  “She visits regularly. She hasn’t told you, in all these years?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “So you knew the girls would meet?”

  “No, of course not. Your mother said that you’d decided to send Gena elsewhere. I never would have sent Evie if I’d thought they’d find each other. I didn’t expect them to meet until their come-­out.” Elizabeth pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh, Nathan. I think we’ve been duped by someone other than the
children.”

  Nathan rubbed the back of his neck. “I think you’re right.”

  Elizabeth made her way toward the door. “I suppose we should fetch Evie from the coach.”

  Nathan slid his hands into his pockets. “No need. If I know Gena, she’s gone straight there to gather her partner.”

  A small knock sounded at the door just then.

  “Come in,” Elizabeth called.

  The door opened and the twins, mirror images of each other, came walking in, arm in arm.

  “Oh, Gena.” Elizabeth opened her arms, and her daughter ran to her and hugged her close. She knew it was Gena only because she recognized the clothing she’d been wearing earlier. Sampson jumped up from his spot on the rug and ran to Evie, wagging his tail.

  Evie bent down and hugged the dog. “Sampson,” she murmured into his fur. She glanced up warily at her mother. “Are you very angry, Mother?”

  “No. How could I be? I’ve been waiting for nearly twelve years to see you together again. You are perfect, my darling,” she said to Gena, tears pooling in her eyes. She reached out her other arm for Evie. “Come here, Evie. I’ve missed you.”

  Evie walked into her mother’s embrace. “I’m so glad you aren’t angry, Mother.”

  “Let me look at you both.” Elizabeth glanced back and forth between the two. “It is so wonderful to see you together. And it’s obvious how you had us fooled. With your hair this way, you look exactly alike.” Tears streamed down her face. Nathan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Elizabeth let go of her daughters long enough to take it and wipe away her tears.

  Gena stepped back and threaded her arm through Evie’s again. “Father, Mother,” Gena said in her characteristic strong voice, “my sister and I would like to spend the Christmastide holiday together.”

  “That’s impossible,” Nathan said. “The storm is quite bad. We must get back on the road immediately if we’re to have any hope of making it home at all.”