“I don’t need his bloody consent,” growled Charlie. He touched one finger to the corner of her mouth, desperate to see her smile again. “I won’t be bound by his arbitrary pronouncements.”
Maria shook her head. The hopeful light in her face faded. “How? How can you persuade him?”
He couldn’t, and he knew it, but Charlie didn’t give a damn right now. “Can you get away tomorrow?” Her parents were ready to go; he had only a moment left with her. “Meet me at the bridge, tomorrow morning. Please, Maria,” he begged as she glanced uncertainly toward her father. “For just a few minutes.”
“I cannot . . .”
“The day after,” he urged. “Three days from now. Any time. Please, darling.”
She bit her lip, but nodded. “Ten o’clock, Friday.”
Four days from now. An eternity, but he was desperately grateful for the chance. “Until then.” He pressed her fingertips to his lips, disregarding their companions.
“Good-bye,” she whispered, and then the Gronows were gone, Maria hurrying in her mother’s wake, her head down. Charlie watched until their carriage was gone, but she never looked back at him.
A sharp ache speared his chest. How dare his father do that to him? He knew Durham didn’t approve, but to denigrate his heir that way, in front of others, was intolerable. He stormed off to vent his humiliation and hurt at his father, but it was unsatisfying. Durham absorbed his fury without responding to it. He listened and said nothing when Charlie wanted him to erupt in fury. He wanted his father to feel the same pain he felt now, the same panic. Maria was doubting him. Mr. Gronow might withdraw his consent. And still his father refused to engage, merely repeating that Charlie was too young to know his own mind and the decision was irrevocable.
For three days he brooded about it, avoiding his father. On the day he was to meet Maria, Charlie rose with his mind made up: he would make one last effort to persuade his father, and failing that, he would elope. He would be cut off from his allowance, true; but what was money when weighed against losing the love of his life? Durham couldn’t disinherit him. Sooner or later Charlie would ascend to the dukedom and its trappings, and probably sooner than later. His father was nearing seventy, albeit without any real sign of infirmity. His heart hardened with resolution, he went into the breakfast room and bowed.
“Sir,” he said. “I implore you one last time to reconsider.”
Durham didn’t ask about what. His face set, he slowly shook his head. “No.”
As he had expected. Charlie bowed again. “Good day, then.”
Maria was waiting by the time he reached the bridge in the woods, her blue cloak a bright spot amid the greenery. His heart jumped as always at the sight of her; he was off his horse and rushing toward her before she even turned to face him. But her expression stopped him in his tracks.
Her eyes were grave. Her porcelain skin was frighteningly pale, and her mouth trembled at the sight of him. Renewed fury bloomed inside him, that his father had done this to her—to them. He clasped her in his arms, and she clung to him as if her life depended on it, soft and fragile in his embrace.
“Run away with me,” he whispered. “I can’t bear to lose you. Elope with me.”
She raised her face to him. “We can’t. Your father—”
“Damn him,” Charlie growled. “I love you.”
“We’d be poor,” she cried in anguish. “Cut off. Cast out.”
“Only until he dies.” It was cold and heartless to say it that way, but Charlie thought those words described the duke’s action perfectly. “Maria, darling, we can manage.”
“How? Do you really mean to be destitute for years and years?” She stepped back out of his hold. “Did you know he called on my father?”
Charlie stared, thunderstruck. “No.”
“He said you wouldn’t have a farthing from him if we married against his wishes. Papa was quite indignant on your behalf—how could a father cast out his eldest son?—but His Grace was adamant. He declared the previous Duke of Durham lived past age ninety, and he meant to do the same. Don’t you see, we can’t run off!”
“I’ll take care of you,” he promised recklessly. “Somehow.”
A tear rolled down her cheek. “No,” she whispered. “I wish I could, but I can’t. My parents told me this morning I’m not to see you again, because His Grace threatened them if they did not separate us. Mama wants me to go to her cousin in Bath—a change of scene, she says. My heart is breaking. I love you. I always will. But I cannot marry you, not like this.”
She went up on her toes to kiss him. In agony, Charlie seized her and held her close, trying to persuade her with his kiss if not with his words. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back, but in the end she pulled away from him. “Good-bye, my love,” she said, her voice quaking. “Good-bye.” She turned and hurried off, leaving him alone.
She hadn’t exaggerated. He heard through neighborhood gossip Maria left the day after their farewell; in fact, all the Gronows went to Bath. But if Charlie thought that was the harshest blow to bear, he was mistaken: barely a fortnight later news reached his ears that she was being courted by an older, more sophisticated man. By the time he heard whispers that Maria Gronow had snared herself an earl—a proper earl, in full possession of his estates and income—Charlie was past the point of feeling the pain.
His father found him in the garden the night he heard the heartbreaking news, staring off in the direction of the bridge where they had parted that last time—forever. For several minutes Durham just sat silently beside him on the cold stone bench.
“She fooled you,” the duke said at last. “It hurts, but better now than later, when you would be irrevocably tied to her.”
“She loves me.” Charlie’s voice sounded flat and dead to his own ears. “And I love her.”
“She wanted to be a duchess,” countered his father. “And her family schemed to make her one. Did you never wonder why a mother would allow her sixteen-year-old daughter so much freedom with a young man?”
He had wondered, briefly, but Maria told him her mother suffered headaches and was often confined to bed, not noticing where her daughter went. Because it suited his wishes so perfectly, he accepted it. Had she lied to him? He shook his head slightly; it didn’t matter now.
“Gronow made no effort to hide it. He hinted you had compromised the girl, thinking to force my hand.” Durham glanced at him. “I know my son. You’re too honorable.” Charlie just sat, stony-faced, remembering every little liberty Maria had allowed him, and every one she had denied him. He had been too honorable. If he’d taken advantage of her innocence, just once, to make love to her and get his child on her, Durham would have had no choice but to agree.
“But I’m not a fool, and I didn’t let him mistake me for one,” his father went on. “Gronow was born a viscount’s son, but he’s a scoundrel and a liar, looking to twist everything to his advantage.” Durham paused, shooting a contemplative glance at him. “He had the temerity to suggest my opinion of the match counted for little, when I said you would never marry his daughter, and to point out I could not disinherit you. He asked if I would allow my grandchildren to be raised in penury.”
“I would marry his daughter,” replied Charlie.
“I told him I would not be blackmailed into supporting his family,” went on his father, as ruthless as ever. “He wanted money, Charles. As soon as I called his bluff about the girl’s virtue, he asked for recompense for her broken heart, first ten thousand pounds, then five, then one. He’s awash in debts. His pretty daughter is the only asset he’s got.”
“She’s not like that.”
“Perhaps not, but I see she wouldn’t elope with you. And now she’s engaged to marry another man, barely three weeks after professing her love for you.”
Charlie shuddered.
“She got what she wa
nted, and it wasn’t you; it was a title and a fortune.” The duke’s tone grew a shade softer. “Surely you see that now.”
“What choice did she have, after being humiliated here? You’re not the only one with pride, Father, although not everyone exercises it so cruelly.”
Durham stiffened and looked away. “You’ll understand some day,” he said at last, his face grim and shadowed. “And you’ll thank me for it.”
Slowly, Charlie turned to stare at his father, feeling hollow and numb. He could endure being the least favorite son; he could endure being criticized on every point, made to feel inferior and useless. In some corner of his mind, he had known his father wouldn’t approve of his match with Maria, but never had he guessed the old man would go to such lengths to prevent it, to drive her away so she would be forever beyond his reach. And to say he would some day thank him for ruining his every hope of happiness, without even a word of sympathy or regret . . .
“No, sir.” He could almost see the wall between him and his father now, invisible but impenetrable all the same. “I will never thank you for it. I can barely look at you.”
Durham’s jaw twitched. “I am saving you from a fate far worse than you can imagine.”
Rage poured through him, so sharp he was suddenly trembling with it. “What is that? The fate of being married to the woman I love?” He lurched to his feet and flung his arms out wide. “What’s so terrible about that?”
His father hesitated. He started to speak, then closed his mouth into a firm line.
“I’m leaving,” said Charlie, his voice taut with fury. “I’m not coming back. I’ve disappointed you for years, so I expect it will be a relief for you as well as for me. Good-bye, Father.” He swept a mocking bow and turned to go.
“Charles,” said the duke behind him as he walked away. Charlie paused, waiting, but his father didn’t say another word, so he walked on. He packed his things that night and left at dawn the next morning. He didn’t see his father again. No one tried to stop him; in fact, the stable boy had his horse ready and waiting in the morning. He took the road north, toward London, not certain what he would do there but absolutely determined not to be controlled and manipulated like a puppet on a string.
His father thought he was reckless and foolish; so be it. His father thought him a boy, thinking only of pleasures and nothing at all of responsibility; very well. His father thought he wasn’t quite good enough, no matter what he did, so Charlie had had enough of trying. Perhaps the duke deserved to see how very, very right he was. What was the point in striving for something if one was doomed to fall short forever? He might not be a great man, but he could certainly be the greatest libertine in England.
When Charlie reached London, it didn’t take long to lose himself in myriad pleasures and vices. He spent wildly, drank copiously, gambled to excess, and carried on with women of every rank. Within a few years he was established as the most scandalous of rakes, the wildest of rogues, the very embodiment of a scoundrel.
His father disapproved, vehemently—but his excoriating letters never contained a single hint of apology or regret.
And Charlie kept his word never to return.
Chapter 1
1810
Tessa Neville had never met the Earl of Gresham, but she hated him just the same.
She was not normally given to hating people. It was a waste of time and a rather indulgent emotion, in her opinion, and Lord knew there was enough indulgence and emotion in her family already. Had she encountered Lord Gresham under different circumstances, chances were she would have thought little of the gentleman, if she even noticed him at all. Earls, especially of his status and notoriety, were far out of her normal circles, and she was quite happy that way.
Awareness of him, however, was forced upon her, and not in the best way. She supposed there might be a good reason one could be forcibly aware of someone, but generally it was a bad reason. And at this particular moment, in this particular way, Lord Gresham managed to leave her annoyed, impatient, and disgusted with him and herself.
His first offense was not a personal failing. By simple bad luck, she arrived at the York Hotel, Bath’s finest, only a few minutes before the Gresham entourage. And to be fair, her mood was already on edge. Eugenie Bates, her elderly companion, had been in such a state of nerves over the journey she hadn’t been ready to leave on time, and so had made them later than Tessa wished. It was a very warm day, making travel even more uncomfortable than usual as the heat and brilliant sun seemed to wilt everything but Eugenie’s ability to worry aloud. By the time they reached Bath in the late afternoon, Tessa was already tired, hungry, and heartily wishing she had defied her sister and left Eugenie at home. She’d told herself all would be better once they reached the hotel and she could change out of her wool traveling dress, have a refreshing cool drink, and stretch her legs. She’d all but leaped down from the hired travel chaise, anxious to settle Eugenie into the hotel.
But no sooner had she walked through the doors and given her name than there came the rattle of harness and a clatter of wheels in the street, and almost immediately a hue and a cry rose. The hotelier, who had come forward to welcome her, excused himself in a rush and hurried out to see what was the matter. The arrival’s title reached her ears in a whisper both delighted and alarmed: the Earl of Gresham!
When Eugenie, straggling in Tessa’s wake, heard the name, she gasped. “Oh, my dear! I did not know this hotel catered to such an elegant crowd!”
“It is a hotel, Eugenie,” replied Tessa, watching the hotel staff rush past her without a second glance. “It caters to whoever can pay the bill.”
“Lady Woodall will be so dismayed she missed such a sight!” Eugenie’s fatigue vanished. She watched in open fascination as servants bustled back and forth, bringing in luggage and carrying it away up the stairs.
“I am sure she will be nearly as delighted when she reads your account of his arrival.” Tessa thought her sister would have stationed herself in the hall to look fetching, hoping to secure an introduction. Louise was looking forward to her life in London with almost feverish eagerness, and being acquainted with an earl would have made her faint with joy. At least Eugenie was too shy to thrust herself forward that way.
“Oh, my dear, we must wait and catch a glimpse of the gentleman!” Eugenie caught sight of Tessa’s wry smile and blushed. She was such a pink and white creature, Eugenie Bates. Tessa had been making her blush since she was a schoolgirl of ten, when Eugenie, a poor but beloved distant cousin of her mother’s, had come to live with them. All it took now was a certain look, because Eugenie had a vast experience of what Tessa’s looks might mean. “So I might relate it to Lady Woodall,” she protested. “Not to be rude, of course.”
“Naturally,” agreed Tessa. “It wouldn’t be rude to stand here to see him at all, as we were standing here before he arrived, and because we simply have no choice but to wait until the hotel staff remember we exist.”
“Oh, I’m sure they haven’t forgotten us! Mr. Lucas will surely return at any moment. Are you tired, Tessa dear? Should we sit down in the lounge over there?” Eugenie’s disappointment was clear, but she dutifully gestured to the small sofa on the other side of the room.
Tessa, who was tired, patted her hand. “I’m perfectly fine. And here comes the earl now.” She was glad of that last part. Eugenie could have her glimpse of the noble personage, the hotel staff could grovel at his feet, and the sooner that was done, the sooner she would have her own peaceful room. She obligingly stepped back to allow her companion an unimpeded view of His Lordship’s entrance.
“Good heavens, an earl!” Eugenie leaned forward, her face alight. “I encountered a marquess once, but it was quite by accident—I expect he thought I was a woman of low morals, for he was very forward! For my own part, I was so amazed he spoke to me, I’m sure I gave no very good account of myself, either. And of course I was acqu
ainted with your dear papa, and now your brother, but otherwise I’ve never seen anyone of such rank!”
“Not true; you once saw one of the royal princesses in Wells, taking the waters.”
Eugenie waved it off. “That was from afar, dear! This is very near, only a few feet apart. I shall be able to see every detail of his dress, and whether he has a kind face, and what sort of gloves he wears. Lady Woodall will be so anxious to know what is fashionable for gentlemen in London, so she might order accordingly for young Lord Woodall . . .”
Tessa stopped listening whenever issues of fashion arose, especially anything to do with Louise’s idea of fashion. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about her own appearance, or didn’t wish to look smart. She just had no patience for endless dithering over the merits of ivory gloves versus fawn gloves, or whether a blue gown should have white ribbons or blond lace or perhaps seed pearls for embellishment. She had been born with an unfortunately firm and decisive personality, much to the dismay of her frivolous sister. In the time it took Tessa to change her dress and arrange her hair, Louise could scarcely choose a handkerchief. Eugenie fell much too easily under Louise’s spell, although she did improve when away from her. And since Tessa had been persuaded that she had little choice but to bring Eugenie with her on this trip, she could only pray the lingering influence of her sister faded quickly.
Her mind drifted as Eugenie breathlessly narrated the earl’s infuriatingly slow progress into the hotel. She had a great deal to accomplish this week, and she did hope for a few days of seeing the sights before leaving. Tessa might be immune to the lure of a milliner’s shop, but she loved to spend a pleasant hour in a bookshop, and the coffeehouses of Bath occupied a special place in her heart. Eugenie was looking forward to visiting the famous Pump Room, with strict instructions from Louise to take note of what all the ladies wore. If Tessa could have left her companion behind in Bath, she would have done so, to the greater happiness of both of them. Eugenie would enjoy herself here a great deal more than out in a small town in the country, but Louise had insisted Tessa couldn’t possibly go alone. And once Louise set her mind on something, it was best just to admit defeat. Pyrrhus himself would have conceded the battle was not worth fighting.
The Way to a Duke's Heart: The Truth About the Duke Page 2