The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  “No. I don’t think that’s what it is.” He fidgeted with his snowy white cravat. “I think I told you I had the same trouble.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that I loved your mother for quite some time and...er...helped her in a way that defies convention.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember anything else?”

  “Yes,” he said, his throat hoarse with raw emotion. Mr. Appleton had mentioned having another son. An older one who’d received his inheritance from another. Giles couldn’t have forgotten that admission with anything less than brain fever. But that’s as far as it went. He didn’t dare try to draw connections between any of the secrets Mr. Appleton had entrusted him with or his growing curiosity as to why the man was helping him, lest he draw the wrong conclusion and be made a fool.

  “Can I trust you with another secret that cannot leave this house?”

  Giles’ heart pounded in his chest. “Yes.”

  “I convinced your mother to defy convention one other time.” He reached over and took his wife’s hand in his, much the same way Giles held Lucy’s hand. “I knew the moment I met her that I had to marry her. Unfortunately, she’d been married by proxy to Norcourt. That did nothing to deter me and I did everything short of abducting her to spend time with her.

  “When not wooing her, I studied the law to find some means for her to escape her marriage. There wasn’t any. So when she told me that Norcourt was returning from abroad within the fortnight, we agreed to one night together then to go our separate ways.”

  “What are you saying?” Giles choked around the lump in his throat.

  “I’m not saying anything is absolute,” Mr. Appleton said carefully. “But you were born only eight and a half months after your mother’s wedding to Lord Norcourt.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what? Being the reason you were mistreated and separated from your mother?” Mr. Appleton burst out unevenly.

  “No. For telling me the truth.”

  “He’s always wanted to tell you, Giles,” his mother said softly. “I thought it was best for everyone if it was never actually spoken of. Once again I was wrong and beg your forgiveness. I didn’t want you to be hurt or to ruin any friendship that might have formed between the two of you. I’ve accepted that you might never forgive me. I didn’t want to ruin this relationship, too.”

  He’d softened marginally toward his mother over the past few weeks, but her final words made every wall he’d erected around his heart toward her turn to dust. “What changed?”

  “Lucy.”

  “Lucy?”

  “She came to see me at the library today,” Mother said. “She mentioned that she thought it might be important to tell you the truth.” She dried her eyes and cast him a watery smile. “She asked if the two of you could come to dinner sometime later in the week, but when I mentioned it to Walter, well, as you can see he didn’t want to wait.”

  Giles turned to his wife, unsure what to say.

  “You were right this morning,” she said softly.

  “I was?”

  She laughed. “Don’t act so surprised.”

  “I am surprised. I’m never right.”

  “You were this time. I just didn’t—” she frowned— “no couldn’t realize it at first.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  She used her free hand to gesture to the room. “This.” She cleared her throat. “While I’d like to accept everyone’s thanks, I can’t. It wasn’t me who realized this needed to be said, or at least acknowledged. Lady Belgrave pointed it out to me.”

  “Isabelle?” everyone asked in unison.

  Lucy nodded. “I hope none of you are angry with me for talking to her about it.” She angled her body so she was looking only at Giles. “When I went to see her today instead of helping me find ways to convince you to agree with me, she made me realize how important the very same thing was to you.”

  “Does that mean?” He hoped she could share the rest of this particular thought so he wouldn’t have to embarrass her by putting voice to it.

  She squeezed his hands in response, and whispered, “Yes, I’ll tell him when he asks.”

  Heedless to the fact that his mother—and father—were in the room watching them, Giles lifted Lucy’s left hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Thank you.”

  “Perhaps I’ll have to go see Isabelle tomorrow and offer her my thanks, as well,” Mother mused a moment later after Giles and Lucy had turned back to join their conversation. She twisted her lips and puckered her brow as if she were in deep contemplation. “She might even be able to offer me a suggestion or two on how to get Giles and Simon on friendly terms.”

  “She just might be willing to help if only to spare herself from having to spend the day embroidering something,” Lucy murmured, then took an uncomfortable swallow. “But if you’d like my suggestion, I think it might help the most to have a candid conversation with Simon similar to this one.”

  Silence fell over the room for a moment or two, broken only when Giles’ mother released a deep, uneven breath and said, “You’re likely, no you are right and that’s just what we’ll have to do as soon as we get home.”

  When they were gone and Lucy and Giles were alone again, Giles pulled her into his arms and pressed his forehead to hers. “Thank you,” he whispered, cupping her face with his large hands.

  “You’re welcome. Hopefully, after they go home and offer some explanations to Simon things will improve for everyone’s relationship.”

  He hoped so, too. It would actually be rather nice to have a brother, or at least another friend. In the meantime, however, he’d much rather show his wife, and closest friend, just how much she meant to him now and always would.

  EPILOGUE

  August 1818

  Devon

  “We don’t have to go today, if you don’t wish to,” Lucy said to Giles when he walked up behind where she was looking at herself in the mirror of the guest bedchamber they shared at Briar Creek.

  “And disappoint Simon by missing his wedding?” Giles asked. “I think not.”

  Lucy laughed and bent to retrieve her shawl. “All right, then we’d best be going.”

  “Wait.”

  She stilled. “Yes?”

  “If you’re not comfortable, we won’t go.”

  “Me?”

  Giles pushed a lock of her fallen hair behind her ear. “Did Mother tell you who was presiding?”

  “Yes, Paul, Sam’s brother.” Lucy waited for unease to overcome her. It didn’t. That’s all Paul was to her: Sam’s brother. Not the boy who’d been her playmate and had defended her when his brother was being beastly. Not the brother whose intentions had been genuine when they’d gotten older. Not the man who’d offered to support her and Seth out of invisible chains of morality or duty. He was just Paul, the younger son of a viscount who’d chosen the life of a vicar.

  “Does Seth know?”

  “That I bear a strong resemblance to the minister?” Seth asked candidly, coming into their room.

  Giles choked on his surprise.

  “But he’s not really my uncle,” Seth continued.

  “Not legally, no,” Lucy agreed carefully. She’d had to be careful in how she explained their connection to Paul and Liberty and that he could never refer to them publicly as anything other than Mr. and Mrs. Grimes. To the world, they were not a relation.

  “I know. But not in any other way, either. Not like Uncle Simon.”

  Lucy smiled at her son. Seth and Simon must have had an exceptional two days together when Seth stayed with the Appletons after the wedding because there hadn’t been a single week that had gone by since then when Simon hadn’t come by to fulfill his role as “favorite uncle”, bearing candy or other trinkets and playing cards or taking him somewhere. Presumably not to the Statue Museum, she thought wryly. Of course, when Simon came, he took a few minutes to seek out Giles. When asked, Giles always shrugged and said the
y didn’t talk about anything of consequence, but to her, that was of the most consequence: at least they were speaking.

  “Just like Lord Bonnington,” Seth said suddenly, pulling Lucy from her thoughts. “He’s not really my father.”

  A stillness fell over the room.

  “Not like you are,” he continued, looking at Giles. He idly rubbed his fingers together at his sides and took a hard swallow. “Giles, c-can I— That is...er...”

  Lucy’s heart pounded on her son’s behalf. She knew what he wanted to ask. He’d confided his secret in her last night when she’d told him the identity of his father. What she didn’t tell him was Giles had confided the same wish some time ago, but didn’t want to ask Seth and have him agree because of obligation or for his mother’s benefit. He wanted it to be genuine.

  “...would it be all right with you if I—” he fidgeted and balled his hands into fists.

  “Called me Papa?” Giles ventured, a question, and perhaps his heart, in his tone.

  “Yes, sir. But only if—”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way, son,” Giles cut in with a face-splitting grin that made Lucy’s heart swell with love for the two people she loved the most in this world.

  For the next six months anyway—then there’d be a third...

  MORE IN THIS SERIES

  Gentlemen of Honor Series

  Secrets of a Viscount

  Desires of a Baron

  Passions of a Gentleman

  ABOUT ROSE GORDON

  USA Today Bestselling and Award Winning Author ROSE GORDON writes unusually unusual historical romances that have been known to include scarred heroes, feisty heroines, marriage-producing scandals, far too much scheming, naughty literature and always a sweet happily-ever-after. When not escaping to another world via reading or writing a book, she spends her time chasing two young boys around the house, being hunted by wild animals, or sitting on the swing in the backyard where she has to use her arms as shields to deflect projectiles AKA: balls, water balloons, sticks, pinecones, and anything else one of her boys picks up to hurl at his brother who just happens to be hiding behind her.

  She can be found somewhere in cyberspace at: http://www.rosegordon.net.

  Or blogging about something inappropriate at: http://rosesromanceramblings.wordpress.com.

  Rose would love to hear from her readers and you can e-mail her at rose.gordon@hotmail.com.

  You can also find her on Facebook, Goodreads, and Twitter.

  If you never want to miss a new release, visit her website to subscribe to her New Release list and you'll be notified each time a new book becomes available.

  ATHENA’S ORDEAL

  Sue London

  For my mom, who made me a Haberdasher at heart. Strong women raise strong girls.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Tremendous thanks to my editors Kris Silva (@gravewriter71 on Twitter) and Jen Driver-Sylvia (www.thinkjenthink.com). The Haberdashers wouldn't be nearly as engaging (or well-written) without your influence. You went above and beyond.

  Thanks to all of the people in the romance writing circle who have made me feel welcome. Especially thanks to Courtney Milan and Rose Gordon for their advice and support. You guys are awesome.

  Thank you to my husband who helped to make sure that Quince and Sabre made their debut with love, support, nagging, taking on extra chores, and all those other things that authors need when they hear deadlines whooshing by.

  And a huge thanks to the fans of the Haberdashers! Oh my gosh, you guys, my heart has grown at least three sizes from how much you have enjoyed Jack and Giddy's story. Back in the spring I was just a girl with a dream and now you've made that dream come true. Thank you so much for your support! I hope that you find Quince and Sabre's story to be as much fun.

  And thanks again to all the people I mentioned in Trials of Artemis – my “friends and family” both in person and online. You guys are awesome and help me make it through every day.

  "The hardest thing of all for a soldier is to retreat." ~ Duke of Wellington

  "The essence of fencing is to give, but by no means to receive." ~ Moliere

  "A day can press down all human things, and a day can raise them up. But the gods embrace men of sense and abhor the evil." ~ Athena to Odysseus

  ONE

  May 1815, London

  Quincy Telford, Duke of Beloin, knew the importance of discretion. Even a duke's power wasn't absolute and at such delicate times as these, a man of discretion was invaluable. That was why, if anyone had been attentive enough to notice, the duke would have been found on the doorstep of Robert Bittlesworth this fine spring morning, knocking lightly but politely, without a servant in sight. Even the best servants might not be trusted to be circumspect and on this occasion he could not risk any talk of what he was about. The door was opened promptly by a manservant too young and burly to be a proper English butler. Since Quince didn't want to present a card he simply drew himself up in his best ducal stance and said, "I am here to see Mr. Bittlesworth."

  The manservant, noting the overall look of refinement that the duke cultivated, bowed him into the hallway and asked him to wait a moment while it was seen whether Mr. Bittlesworth might, indeed, be in to receive him. As the hallway was better than the street Quince was content to cool his heels looking at the paintings on display. Hearing footsteps on the stairs he turned, expecting to see Bittlesworth, but instead saw a vision that made him catch his breath. A young woman was just at the landing, perfectly highlighted in a beam of light from the second story window. Her hair was the deep, warm sable of a mink and had been gathered at the crown to cascade in a riot of curls down her back. She was petite in stature, her figure a perfect hourglass emphasized by the low cut red dress that hugged her curves. The dress was Italian in design if he wasn't mistaken. Expensive, no doubt, but worth every penny to any man who was fortunate enough to look upon her. Bittlesworth was a lucky man indeed, and brazen to have given his Cyprian free access to his home. As he stared up at her she glanced down and saw him, stopping with a startled "Oh!" She took the remaining steps slowly, and watching those hips coming toward him he had to admit that he would probably give her free rein of his home, as well.

  "Good morning," she said after a moment, obviously entertained that they stood in the front hall staring at one another longer than was considered appropriate in polite company.

  He had to admit that he was well pleased that this wasn't entirely polite company. Taking her hand to bow over he kissed her finger tips and, looking up, enjoyed another quite spectacular angle of her cleavage. For such a tiny thing she had simply acres of creamy white skin to admire, from her barely covered breasts to her shoulders, teasingly exposed by the drop sleeves of the gown.

  "Good morning," he responded in as silky a tone as he could muster. As he straightened he saw that it had the desired effect, as she seemed to preen under his attentions. Her eyes were the color of bright sapphires and light danced in them from her good humor.

  "You have me at a disadvantage, sir," she said, "as Bobbins has been derelict in his duties again and not announced you."

  Still holding her hand and staring down into her beautiful face he came to an impulsive decision. He would have her, at any price. He had never wanted a woman, or really anything, quite like this. As though leaving without her was impossible, unconscionable. He rushed to claim her before his own fear, his inexperience in bargaining for such a woman, could stop him.

  "Whatever Bittlesworth is paying you, I'll double it. Triple it. You'll never want for anything again in your life."

  The change in her expression was so sudden it was almost shocking. The humor was gone and she was so expressionless as to be carved from stone.

  "Pardon me?" she asked.

  As Quince searched his mind for what to say to bring back the delightful fairy queen she had been and, better yet, to convince her to leave with him, his thoughts were interrupted.

  "Your grace, I didn't realize it
was you."

  The Duke of Beloin released the young woman's hand and turned to see Robert Bittlesworth, who had apparently emerged from some room here on the first floor while Quince hadn't been paying attention. "That's rather the idea, old boy," his normal hauteur having returned to his tone.

  Bittlesworth paused and then said, "Quite." He looked from the young woman and then back to the duke. "I trust my sister hasn't been too tiresome?"

  The last time Quince remembered being this lightheaded was when he let his friend Giddy talk him into going three rounds with Gentleman Jackson. Apparently a sharp uppercut from a man nearly twice your size had exactly the same effect as deeply insulting the younger sister of a gentleman that you had hoped could save you. But just as he had borne up under Jackson's pounding as best he could, the duke barely faltered in his response now. "She has been delightful." Quince's eyes swung back to the dark-haired beauty who remained expressionless. Holding her gaze he said, "And I trust she can be discreet as well?"

  The young woman raised her chin a notch as though accepting his challenge while her brother said, "Of course. Perhaps you would be more comfortable in my study?"

  "Indeed," Quince said. Nodding to the young woman he said, "Miss Bittlesworth."

  Bowing into a low curtsy she said, "Your grace."

  Quince doubted that he had escaped so easily after such an insult, but beggars couldn't be choosers so he let Robert Bittlesworth lead the way to a small but well-appointed study so that he could explain his issue to the Hero of the Home Office.

  Sabre, or as she was more formally known Sabrina Bittlesworth, stood quite still in the hallway for a few moments after Robert and his guest had left. She had heard of having your blood run cold before but had never experienced it herself. Until today. Until this supposed duke had mistaken her for some sort of... some trollop. When Bobbins returned to the front hall she proceeded with her original plan to call on her friend Jack, who, as of earlier this spring, was now Jacqueline Wolfe, Countess of Harrington. As she rather precisely put on her gloves, bonnet, and pelisse, she thought that's what one's oldest and dearest friends were for, someone to take comfort in when the day wasn't going quite as planned, and Jack would certainly be comforting. Looking down the hallway toward Robert's study, Sabre wondered when her other oldest, dearest friend Georgiana would come home from Scotland. Rather than comfort, George would just sneak down the hallway and poison the dratted duke's tea. Or at least threaten to, and that would be heartening. With a final tug to tighten her bonnet strings Sabre sailed out the front door of her brother's house and into the waiting carriage.