How the Dukes Stole Christmas

by MacLean, Sarah

  Duke was already shaking his head. “I have made my decision, Rose.”

  She hated that answer, but it was what she had expected—and why she’d written a new column for tomorrow’s paper.

  “And what about us?” she forced herself to ask. “Have you made that decision as well?”

  He exhaled a long breath and studied her face. “I do not have a habit of ruining innocents. I am willing to do the right thing, obviously, which is no doubt why you are really here.”

  Did he think…? Was he insinuating…? The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, her fingers curling into her palms. “I am here to argue for my job, not to drag you kicking and screaming into a marriage.”

  He did not appear to believe her. “You should congratulate yourself. Many have tried to get me to the altar, but you are the only one who has succeeded. Contact my assistant after the holiday and she will tell you all you need to know.” He picked up his pen and actually went back to proofing.

  “All I need to know?”

  “Yes, like the location and date.” He waved his hand, still not meeting her eyes. “Where to send the bills, et cetera.”

  Snow began to fall outside the windows, the sky giving up in trying to hold in the moisture. Rose felt a little the same way, unable to swallow past the lump in her throat as her heart split in two. She’d been wrong about him.

  So very wrong.

  She could not speak, her mouth as dry as dust, tears threatening. As much as she would love to deliver a blistering set down, one that would reach the heart behind his cold shell, she could not. One thing she knew for certain: She would rather work as a laundry maid for the rest of her life than marry this man. “No, thank you,” she choked out and crossed to the exit.

  Unlocking the door, she left Pike’s office and dug deep for composure. Only a few more minutes. She had one last stop to make before she could figure out the rest of her life.

  It took a few tries, but Rose finally located the correct typesetter. “Good day. I am Mrs. Walker,” she told the young man. Pulling a folded piece of paper from her pocket, she placed it on the desk. “I have new copy for my column. See that it gets replaced in the morning paper.”

  “But we’ve already laid out the edition. Mr. Havermeyer’ll be very displeased if—”

  What was one more lie when she had absolutely nothing left to lose? “Mr. Havermeyer just finished approving the changes. You don’t think I would be foolish enough to go behind his back, do you? On Christmas?” She laughed, though it sounded hollow to her ears.

  “I suppose not,” the man said and picked up the words she’d written last night. “I’ll see this is taken care of.”

  “Thank you. I owe you a glass of eggnog.”

  “Gives me indigestion. I’d rather have a cigar, if you want to know the truth.”

  “Then you shall have it. Take care and Merry Christmas.”

  “I enjoy your column, Mrs. Walker,” he called as she walked away. “Wife and I never miss it.”

  She turned and thanked him, her head high as she left the Gazette for the final time.

  The offices were dark that evening as Duke relaxed in Pike’s office with a cigar and a bottle of scotch. The other employees had already departed, the issue long sent to the presses. Only, he had nowhere to go, no one to meet. An empty house awaited him, the thought more depressing than the quiet offices. At least at the office, he might get ahead on his work.

  He took a swallow of scotch, hoping to numb the pain he’d felt ever since Rose had walked out of this room. While his proposal may have lacked romance, she certainly hadn’t hesitated in refusing him.

  What had you expected when you treated her terribly?

  Hard to say, when he was still quite angry. And yes, hurt. He’d denied it earlier, but she was right. He had trusted her and she’d broken that trust. The betrayal pained him more than he would have ever thought possible.

  More scotch burned its way to his stomach. Perhaps if he got drunk enough, he’d be able to sleep tonight. The last two nights he had stared at the ceiling above his bed, remembering and second-guessing himself—something he never, ever did.

  The door to the office slid open and Duke’s heart thumped hard. Had she returned?

  Pike’s weathered face appeared, his body freezing when he spied Duke in the chair. “Mr. Havermeyer…I hadn’t expected to find you here this late.”

  Duke pushed aside the disappointment and beckoned his former editor-in-chief inside the room. “I have no doubt that’s true. Have you forgotten something?”

  Instead of answering, Pike removed one of the paintings from the wall. “The wife painted this when we were younger. Cannot believe I left it behind.” He lowered himself into a seat across from the desk. “I see you found my scotch.”

  “I certainly have.” Duke glanced at the nearly empty glass in his hand, then finished the rest of it in one gulp. “Couldn’t you have sprung for a better brand? This tastes like varnish.”

  “Hardly ever drank it myself. Kept it in my desk for the editors—and you, apparently.”

  Duke reached into the drawer and withdrew another glass. He filled it and topped off his own. He held out the fresh glass to Pike. “If I must suffer, then so should you.”

  Pike laughed and accepted the crystal. “Fair enough. I must say, you look like shit, Havermeyer.”

  Duke started to scowl, then remembered Pike did not work for him any longer. “A few long days, is all. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”

  “Sure about that?” He lifted the glass to his mouth. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  It was not an odd request. Duke had worked closely with Pike over the years and had looked up to the man. In truth, Pike had been more of a mentor than Duke’s own father. Firing the older man hadn’t been easy—almost as hard as not chasing after Rose when she walked out today.

  He cleared his throat, determined to keep this about business. “Why’d you keep Mrs. Walker’s identity a secret from me?”

  “So she told you?”

  “More like someone told me for her, but yes. I know she’s an unmarried girl living in a boardinghouse. What I cannot fathom is why you would think keeping that from me was a good idea.”

  Pike blew out a long breath. “A bit of what we do is razzle-dazzle, even if you do not like to admit it. Pulitzer certainly ain’t above pulling a stunt to gain readers. Look at what he’s done with those cartoons and sending Bly into that lunatic asylum. I never compromised the reputation of the paper, not once. I merely wrapped Rose’s advice in a bit of sugar to make it an easier pill to swallow.”

  “The sugar being her supposed age and marital status.”

  “Of course. Girl’s got a good level head on her shoulders, but no one wants to hear advice from one so young. Hell, the Pittsburgh Dispatch has an advice columnist who’s a man posing as an elderly woman. At least I stuck with the right gender.”

  “That is not the point,” Duke snapped. “And if the public had discovered the lie, the paper’s reputation would have been compromised.”

  “Had discovered it, as in past tense?”

  Duke swirled the scotch in his crystal, watching the light reflect off the light brown liquid. “I fired her. After the dinner party she hosted for the board the other night.”

  Pike winced. “The dinner party failed, I suppose?”

  “No. The entire thing was a rousing success. She charmed them all, set up shop in an abandoned house off Central Park. Roped some poor fool into posing as her husband. The board ate it up with a spoon. Haven’t heard a peep out of them concerning the scandal since then.”

  “Yet you fired her?”

  Why didn’t Pike understand? “She lied—and if it had been discovered, the paper would have suffered.”

  “You are wrong. Miss Walker is an incredible asset to your company. Have you seen how many letters she receives a week? The mailroom had to hire two additional staff members just to handle the volume.”


  He hadn’t known that, but it hardly mattered. “Whoever replaces her shall prove just as popular, believe me.”

  “Then tell me why you are here so late on Christmas, looking like someone died.”

  Duke dragged a hand over his jaw. “Have you ever wanted something so badly, even when it could destroy you?”

  Pike remained silent for a moment. “Something—or someone?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course. Things lack the power to love us or hurt us. They also lack the power to change.”

  “Fine, someone.”

  Pike sat a bit straighter. “I’ve known you your entire life. And never has there been anyone so dedicated or driven to succeed, not even your father. But has it brought you happiness? Your father was a miserable man who made everyone around him miserable as well. Is that the kind of life you want for yourself? Here on Christmas, instead of home with a wife and children who love you? Believe me, the papers will survive with or without your personal sacrifices. Do not martyr yourself because you think it is what he would’ve wanted.”

  Was that what he’d done, martyred himself to make a dead man proud? Duke hadn’t a clue, but Pike spoke the truth about Duke’s father. “I do not want his life, but a wife and children should wait until my legacy here has been secured.”

  “A man needs balance, Duke. There will always be more to accomplish in the publishing business. But when you are old and feeble, the newspapers won’t hold your hand. You know, I’ve had more fun the past week with my grandchildren than I ever did my own children. I missed all those years because I was here every single minute, and I regret not stopping to smell the roses every now and again.”

  Duke considered this, trying to recall if his father had ever attended a birthday or holiday… Or a picnic? A ride in the park? He couldn’t remember any instance of spending time with his father outside of these offices.

  “Any chance I’m familiar with this woman?”

  “Yes, you know her,” he mumbled.

  Pike’s expression darkened. “Wait, you do not mean…” Duke offered up no denial and Pike blurted, “Absolutely not. She is not for you.”

  The reaction startled Duke, an argument instantly on his lips. “Why not? You just finished singing her praises. She is an asset, you said.”

  “An asset to the company, yes. A candidate for your…whatever, absolutely not. She is kind and decent. A proper young lady, not a strumpet. She does not deserve to be—”

  “Calm yourself, Pike. I am not talking about that.”

  “Then, what? Your wife?” When Duke didn’t answer, Pike huffed an angry breath. “That is worse! I will not see you saddle that woman with a lifetime of loneliness and heartache. She is too good for the likes of you.”

  Was it the scotch or were Duke’s ears deceiving him? “Too good for me? The woman flimflammed the national newspaper-reading public for nearly two years! She’s a liar and charlatan.”

  “She is a woman who desperately wished a job at a newspaper. Nothing more. She interviewed for a reporting job and I talked her into the advice column because she had an overabundance of common sense. I liked her, damn it. And you may not know this, but her mother worked as a maid for years. She’s in poor health and Rose is saving money to help her retire. How are you able to fault her for that?”

  Duke understood, but his stupid pride kept getting in the way. She had lied to him. Made him feel a fool. “Borrowed” someone’s house for a dinner party. Jesus, the woman’s moral code was as flexible as wheat stalks in a storm, bending to suit her whim. How could he ever believe anything she said again?

  Pike exhaled, then drained his glass and slammed the empty crystal on the desk. “You know what your problem is, Duke? You don’t care to admit when you are wrong. Keep moving forward, never look back. Because to reflect on your past means you might come to regret some of the decisions you’ve made…and you’d be forced to admit you are not perfect.” He stood and collected his painting under one arm. “What you don’t realize is that the world does not need more perfection. It needs more compassion and empathy. And if you cannot learn the difference, you have a very lonely future ahead of you.”

  Pike spun on his heel and strode toward the door.

  A strange sensation filled Duke’s chest. He missed Pike and didn’t care for things to end this way.

  He has been at the paper for more than forty years and now cast adrift for someone else’s mistake.

  Rose had been right, damn it.

  “Wait,” he called. “I’d like to give you your old job back.”

  The former editor in chief turned, a frown on his face. “You want to hire me again?”

  “Yes, I do.” The decision seeped into Duke’s bones with a surety he had not experienced before. “Please. I was wrong to fire you.”

  “Indeed, you were.” Pike dragged a hand over his jaw. “Never thought I would hear you say it.”

  Neither had Duke. He’d never gone back on a decision before. “Perhaps I am learning compassion and empathy.”

  Pike’s mouth twitched. “Fair enough. I do miss working here, but I have no desire to put in ninety-hour weeks any longer. I like spending time at home with my wife and grandchildren.”

  “What about part time?”

  A grin spread over the older man’s face. “Thirty hours a week for the same salary as before.”

  Duke chuckled at the ridiculous bargain. Pike had him cornered and they both knew it. The man was irreplaceable. “Fine, but you start back tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Rose nibbled her nail and watched as her mother and the others read Mrs. Walker’s latest column. They were crowded into the Lowes’ kitchen, the newspaper spread over the flour and salt atop Mrs. Riley’s workbench.

  Bridget gasped, while Henry covered his mouth. Rose’s mother said nothing, but the flattening of her lips spoke volumes. When the group stopped reading, no one spoke.

  Finally, Henry broke the silence. “You told them.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Her readers now knew the truth about Mrs. Walker’s age and marital status. Without giving her mother’s name, Rose had explained her reasons for pretending otherwise, apologized, and pleaded for understanding. Then she told them this was her last column.

  Duke would have a difficult time finding someone else to pose as Mrs. Walker after this.

  “Why did you do that?” her mother asked, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “You loved being Mrs. Walker.”

  “I did. Unfortunately, I was recently fired.” More gasps filled the room. “This was my final column and I wanted to be truthful. And I needed to say good-bye.”

  “I cannot believe he fired you,” Henry snapped. “What happened between you two that night?”

  Rose had eventually told her mother of the dinner party, which had earned her an hour-long lecture on the stupidity of the venture. She hadn’t, however, told anyone of what occurred in the pantry at the end of the night. That stupidity was hers alone. “He was upset that I lied, said my deception could jeopardize the entire paper.”

  “So instead of keeping the secret, you’ve spilled it all over the pages of his newspaper.” Her mother shook her head. “I do not understand how this helps anyone.”

  Bridget said softly, “It is called having your heart broken and needing to clear the air before moving on.”

  Rose gave the young maid a wan smile. “Something like that.” Exactly like that.

  “But you have ensured he will never give you your job back.”

  “Mama, I do not want my job back. I’ll find another newspaper to work for.” One not owned by Duke Havermeyer.

  “Anyone would hire you, Rose,” Henry said. “Havermeyer is a fool for letting you go.”

  The vehemence in Henry’s voice nearly had Rose in tears. She threw him a grateful look and said, “I’ll be fine. Do not worry about me.”

  “Then how was your heart broken?” Her mother glanced around at the faces in
the room. “I feel as if everyone here knows something I don’t.”

  “There is nothing to tell,” Rose said. Not only were her feelings for Duke unrequited, he’d insulted her further by calling her a blackmailer. Better to forget him and move forward.

  “Excuse me.” Mr. Chaplin, the Lowes’ butler, appeared at the base of the stairs. “Henry, there is a man here asking for you. A Mr. Havermeyer.”

  Duke was here, asking for Henry? Good Lord.

  She and Henry locked eyes. “No doubt he’s looking for you, Rosie,” he said.

  Questions bounced in her mind, making it hard to think. “I cannot…see him here.” She raised her brows at her mother, silently asking for help. Her mother said nothing, however, her attention focused on the newspaper.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Lowe are not in,” Bridget pointed out. “And I think you should hear what he has to say.”

  “Still, it does not feel right to commandeer one of the family spaces,” Rose said.

  “I told him to come to the servant’s door around back,” Mr. Chaplin informed them. “If he wants to meet with one of us, then he will need to do it on our terms…not his.”

  Rose could have kissed the butler right then. No doubt Duke would balk at being sent to the servant’s door. Most likely he was headed home at this very moment.

  “What do you think he wants, Rose?” her mother asked. “Perhaps he is here to give you back your job.”

  Impossible. Duke never admitted to a mistake, never changed his mind once it had been set. And even if he did, she could not work for a man who’d accused her of scheming to marry him.

  A bell sounded at the outside door and Rose started. Had he actually come around back? “Allow me,” Henry said and strolled off toward the servant’s entrance.

  She heard the latch turn and then soft words were exchanged. Footsteps…and then Duke Havermeyer appeared in the kitchen, his large hand sweeping his bowler hat off his head. His gaze bounced around the room until it landed on her and, though she had prepared herself, a jolt went through her as their eyes connected. She sucked in a breath, unable to move her limbs.