Heir to the Duke (The Duke's Sons #1)

by Jane Ashford

  “It sometimes seemed to me,” said the duchess more slowly, “that she did not wish… But perhaps she was jealous of a new relationship in your life, though I would never attempt to come between—”

  “Jealous!” After all that had occurred in the last few weeks, the idea was absurd.

  Nathaniel’s mother cocked her head inquiringly.

  “No,” Violet said, finding her voice at last. “Gr-Grandmamma simply has to control any situation involving her…family.”

  “Ah.” The duchess did not appear surprised by this information.

  Thankful to have recovered a crumb of composure, Violet backtracked. “What did you mean, a path Nathaniel had traversed too far?”

  The older woman nodded approvingly, as if she’d asked a proper question. “Nathaniel is an exemplary elder brother.” Her tone was fond. “In the last five years, he has helped three of the other boys—at least three—out of serious scrapes. They think I don’t know.” She shrugged at the naïveté of this belief. “As if I wouldn’t hear from some ‘concerned’ acquaintance. Those rescues led to confidences, and finally, Sebastian, Randolph, and Robert, in particular, began relying on him for every little thing. Trivialities. Matters they should certainly handle themselves.” She looked at Violet. “Nathaniel is very kind.”

  Violet nodded, which seemed to be the correct response.

  “But it seemed to me that…trifles had begun to take over his life. I told him that he should learn to say no, but he didn’t really heed me. You, however, have succeeded where I failed. That is why I congratulate you.” Her smile this time was impish. “Such complaints I’ve been receiving in the mail! ‘What is wrong with Nathaniel? He has not replied to my letter. He has not found me a bishop or a book or a lute.’ Whyever does Sebastian want such a thing?” She shook her head. “You would think that their lives were falling apart.”

  Violet’s relief was mixed with lingering anxiety. “I didn’t really… I wouldn’t wish to come between Nathaniel and his brothers.”

  “No, no, it’s all for the best, I assure you. My other sons are having to find their own solutions to life’s little annoyances, which is exceedingly good for them.”

  Remembering some of the errands Nathaniel had been running for his brothers, Violet had to agree. She wondered if the games for girls had done the trick for Sebastian?

  “They’ll be the better for it, and Nathaniel… Well, I hope he is having a perfectly splendid time. I suspect he is. I might wish it did not involve careening around the countryside in a sporting vehicle.”

  “He drives very well,” Violet put in.

  The duchess nodded. “I trust him to make certain he has the skills to race. And I wanted to be sure to tell you how grateful I am that you have…put the reins in his hands, so to speak.”

  Violet gazed at her, overcome. She could feel the love that the duchess had for her sons. It was in her tone and expression, in the humor as well as the concern. Here was a mother who would take action for her children, who watched over them, even though they were grown men, and exerted herself to understand them. Not control them or…abandon them to their fate. And where had Nathaniel learned kindness, after all? Violet had to blink back tears.

  “What is it?” asked the duchess. “What have I said?”

  “Nothing. I beg your pardon.”

  The older woman examined her. “I have lived too many years as a mother not to see that something is distressing you. Is it this race?”

  Violet’s throat tightened. She swallowed, shaking her head. She could not break down like a blubbering fool in front of Nathaniel’s mother.

  “I know we are not yet friends,” the duchess continued, “though I hope we will be. However, I would be glad to help you in any way I can.”

  She had Nathaniel’s eyes—or he hers, Violet supposed. They were like…beacons of good will. It was a temptation. She shook her head again.

  “I’m not one to pry.” The duchess smiled. “Well, if I’m honest, I can be. A bit. But I promise you I can also be quite useful. The fruits of long experience, you know.”

  Violet didn’t doubt it. If only her dilemma had been one of the ordinary problems of life, she would have taken the duchess up on her offer in an instant. But her plight was hardly ordinary. Still, she couldn’t resist just skirting along its edges, testing the waters, as it were. “The…the Langfords are a very old family.”

  The duchess looked puzzled.

  “With a…a truly distinguished lineage,” Violet added. “They’re descendents of the Plantagenets.”

  “One of the more ramshackle ones, if I recall,” Nathaniel’s mother replied.

  Aristocrats said such self-deprecating things, Violet thought. The man she’d been taught to call her father did so. But it was just an inverted sort of pride. If their listeners seemed to take such comments at face value, they’d soon point out that standards of behavior had been quite different hundreds of years ago. Then casually mention their connection to some ancient king. “You’re the daughter of a marquess,” she added.

  The duchess did not reply, as another might have, “And you’re the daughter of an earl.” She watched Violet silently, her eyes alive with speculation.

  “That sort of…heritage matters a great deal to…people. You…and the duke particularly, I suppose, must be…so glad that…” Violet ran down. She didn’t know how to continue without exposing everything.

  Nathaniel’s mother waited to let her finish. When Violet said nothing more, she looked at her as if she posed a riddle to be solved. The duchess tapped a gloved finger on her knee, then said, “Are you worried, for some reason, about fitting in to the family? I assure you you’re most welcome.”

  She was, in a way that was so much more sweeping than the duchess could imagine.

  Nathaniel’s mother waited a moment, then continued, “Have you become at all acquainted with Ariel?” When Violet looked confused, she added, “Alan’s wife.”

  “Oh. I met her at the wedding. There was no time to talk really. She’s very beautiful.” As was the duchess, Violet thought, and Sebastian’s intended, Lady Georgina. While she herself would never be more than passable. Why must she think about this right now?

  “You know that Ariel is the daughter of an actress from the London stage.”

  Violet blinked in shock. She hadn’t known. She couldn’t recall Nathaniel ever mentioning it. She did remember that the dowager had made slighting remarks about that marriage. But one learned to ignore her continuous stream of criticism and complaint.

  “Though it isn’t much discussed, Ariel makes no secret of it. Her father is a gentleman, but her mother was a child of the slums. Nothing whatever is known of her ‘lineage.’”

  “And you let him marry her?” Violet searched the duchess’s face for remorse or shame, but she showed no signs of such emotions.

  “It’s hardly a question of ‘letting’ once sons are grown,” the older woman replied with a smile.

  Violet wished someone would inform the dowager of this. “Lord Alan will not be the duke,” she pointed out.

  “It would be a tragedy indeed if he were to inherit.” Nathaniel’s mother shivered a little, as if contemplating the thought of all the others dead. “My point is that Ariel is welcome in the Langford family. By all of us. We find the person more important than the ‘lineage.’”

  But Ariel had not deceived them, Violet thought. She’d made no pretense of noble birth. “The duke also…?”

  “Indeed.” Seeing concern in Violet’s expression, she added, “After more than thirty years, I’m certain of it. You need have no doubts.”

  How wonderful that must be, to have all those years together. Violet closed her hands into fists. She would not have that possibility taken from her.

  The duchess laid a hand on her arm. “Violet. May I call you Violet?”

  She nodded, near tears again at the concern in the other’s voice.

  “I don’t understand what’s troubling you,
but I’ll say again that I would be very glad to help.”

  “I want you to think well of me!” It popped out of Violet’s mouth, a heartfelt cry. She’d wanted it from her own family, only to find that esteem—let alone love—was forever out of reach.

  The duchess frowned at her. “Well, I am thought to be a good judge of character. And I do.”

  “You scarcely know me,” Violet reminded her. “You said so.”

  She nodded. “I trust my instincts, however.”

  Violet gazed at her. She seemed to mean it. She seemed to be offering a true welcome into the Gresham family. Once again, the bitter irony of her situation chafed at Violet. If she’d let well enough alone, she’d be receiving a precious gift right now.

  “It’s obvious you need to confide in someone,” the duchess went on. “Perhaps your own mother…” At Violet’s quick negative gesture, she said, “Or another member of your family. Or Nathaniel.”

  “What if I were not what I seemed?” burst from Violet.

  “Not levelheaded and intelligent and charming?” the duchess said with a smile.

  Could she really be so accepting? Violet couldn’t believe it. “How can you say that?”

  “You have been very good for Nathaniel,” the duchess declared. “That is what matters to me.”

  She said this, addressing the daughter of an earl, Violet thought. She wondered if the family’s acceptance of Alan’s wife had been quite as simple as the duchess made it sound? She looked up to find Nathaniel’s mother staring at her. Violet felt as if she’d put a keen foxhound onto a scent.

  “What are we talking about?” the duchess asked. “Do you wish me to swear myself to secrecy?” She put a hand over her heart. “I do. I’m quite good at keeping secrets.”

  It was so tempting. Swayed by the sympathy in her voice, Violet came close to breaking down and telling her everything. But in the end, the years of being oppressed by the dowager, the earl’s indifference, her mother’s weakness, her despair about the future, all of them flooded her with fear. She couldn’t risk it. Violet swallowed tears.

  “I wish you would trust me,” the duchess added.

  She wanted it more than anything—well, anything except Nathaniel—a family she could trust. One where she had a secure and beloved place. It seemed this dream had been just within her grasp, and then slipped away.

  “But perhaps it’s too soon.” The duchess examined Violet’s face with compassion. “It’s just distressing to see you so miserable.”

  This had gone too far. Violet sat straighter. She had to stop it. “I’m not. Miserable. I…I beg your pardon, but you’ve misunderstood me.” It would be wrong, in any case, to reveal her secrets to Nathaniel’s mother before telling him. How would he feel about that?

  The duchess held up her hands. “My dear. Of course.” She hesitated, then added, “Just…allow me to say that you are a Gresham now. And we take care of our own.”

  Violet’s throat was too tight to say more than, “Thank you.”

  Nathaniel’s mother examined her. She held out her hand. After a tiny hesitation, Violet took it. The squeeze of her fingers felt like redemption.

  Then the mantel clock struck, and the duchess turned, surprised. “Oh, I must go. I promised to meet my husband.” She looked back at Violet. “If you are all right?”

  “Perfectly.” Violet rose along with her guest. “And…I’m very grateful for your kindness. I wish I could repay it.”

  Nathaniel’s mother gave her an impish smile. “Oh, I’m sure I shall find all sorts of ways to get my own back. There are my charitable endeavors and tenant visits and so much more.”

  Violet laughed, as she was meant to do, the mood lightened.

  “You are making Nathaniel happy,” the duchess added. “That is all I can ever ask.”

  “I hope I am, that I can,” blurted Violet. “I…I want to so desperately.”

  “From what I hear, you’re doing very well. Both of you.”

  Hear? What did she hear? But before Violet could beg her to elaborate on that statement, she was gone.

  Twenty

  When she was alone again, Violet decided that she couldn’t sit any longer, waiting for the axe to fall. Something in the duchess’s visit had made that intolerable—perhaps the promise of a real family if only she got out from under the dowager’s thumb. It was like a prize dangling, tantalizing, just out of reach. She had to take the leap and grasp it.

  But she still stood by the front window, staring unseeingly down into the street. It was so hard to fight someone who had been a parent figure all your life. There were so many memories of shame and failure. And so, again, she longed for the impossible—to return to the blissful days of ignorance and safety. Illusory safety, yes, all right. But she hadn’t known that, had she? To see that there was no safety… The image of Nathaniel’s mother rose in her mind, her assurance that Violet was a Gresham now. She wanted that to be true as much as she’d ever wanted anything. But it never would be unless she faced down the past. If she couldn’t find the courage to do that, then perhaps she didn’t deserve the reward.

  Before she could waver, Violet fetched her bonnet and shawl and walked out into the street. It was only a short distance to Lady Dunstaple’s house. Gathering her resolve as she went, she found herself wishing it was longer. But she didn’t stop.

  Taking a leaf from the dowager’s book, she didn’t wait to be announced. “I’m family,” she told the maid who opened the door. The irony of the word made her jaw tight as she brushed past the girl to mount the stairs.

  She nearly collided with the Earl of Moreley at the top. He held his hat and gloves and was obviously on his way out. “Hello, ‘Papa,’” Violet said. “I’ve come to see you.”

  “Me?”

  Violet might have found his startled look amusing in any other circumstances. “And the rest of my ‘family,’” she replied. With a shooing motion and an expression borrowed from his formidable mother, she herded him toward the upper parlor.

  There, she found her mother and the dowager countess sitting with their hostess. She edged the earl toward them. “Good afternoon, Lady Dunstaple,” Violet said. “I must beg your indulgence. I’ve come to discuss some important family business.”

  “Violet!” exclaimed the dowager.

  “I know it’s terribly rude to eject you from your own parlor,” Violet continued. “Please excuse me. I wouldn’t ask it for anything trivial.”

  “You will do no such thing,” said the dowager. “I cannot believe you would dare.”

  “But, Grandmamma, you know we have critical matters to settle.”

  “I do not see what we—”

  “Well, you will in a moment.”

  The dowager’s mouth hung a little open. Violet gazed limpidly at their hostess.

  Very slowly, Lady Dunstaple rose. Curious did not begin to describe her expression, but in the face of Violet’s insistence, she could not refuse. “Of course,” she said. Violet followed as she moved reluctantly to the parlor door. After making sure it was firmly shut, she turned to face the remaining trio.

  “That was unacceptable,” began the dowager.

  “A word that apparently describes my very existence, for you,” Violet replied. Her mother looked frightened. The man she’d always thought of as her father was grim, the brim of his hat in clenched hands. The dowager’s glare was all too familiar. “So, I’ve come for a family conference. As if we were a family. Though I understand now that we are not.”

  “Violet,” moaned her mother.

  “Sorry, Mama. Or, actually, I’m not sorry. Why should I be sorry? What have I done?”

  “Your behavior is absolutely unacceptable,” said the dowager.

  “Is it? Well, what else can you expect from a misbegotten ‘cuckoo in the nest’?” Now that she was actually doing it, daring to speak the truth to them, Violet’s courage rose.

  “You are insolent, girl,” said the earl.

  “Girl. You’ve never
called me your daughter, have you? I didn’t notice somehow. How could I have missed that? Too busy hoping to please you, I suppose. You speak of your sons quite often.”

  He glowered at her.

  “As you never wanted me, and never pretended to, I don’t see that I owe you any obedience. Particularly now that I no longer live under your roof.”

  “I paid for your keep and your—”

  “Grudgingly,” Violet allowed. “And as far as I can see, all the decisions were made by my dear ‘grandmamma.’ So it’s not as if you offered me charity, even. You simply did as you were told.”

  His scowl deepened.

  “Do you mean to provoke me to do even more than I promised?” said the dowager. “Because I will.”

  “I mean to tell you what I will do unless you leave me alone.” She surveyed the three people that she’d tried to respect and please and, yes, to love all her life. She had struggled so hard to love them, made so many excuses for inexcusable behavior. The earl was not a demonstrative man, she’d told herself. The dowager scrutinized every detail because she cared. She had to fight her way past a flash of pain in order to continue.

  “If you do not give me your promises, your sacred word of honor, that you will never mention this matter again, I will go to the Langfords the moment I leave here. They are in Brighton, had you heard? I will tell them of your scheme to foist off a low-born imposter upon them.”

  “What?” exclaimed the earl.

  Violet put a hand on her heart. “Me, that is.” She shook her head as if deploring their actions. “I’ll describe how much you enjoyed fooling them, how you hugged your secret to your bosoms and felt smug and superior—to a duke! I’ll describe how shocked I was when I found out. Just aghast. I’ll beg their pardons.”

  “You would never expose your mother to such a scandal,” said the dowager. Her mother had put her head in her hands.

  Violet felt a pang of sympathy, but drawing back now wouldn’t save her mother from distress. “Why not? You threatened to tell Nathaniel your own version of the story. And do your best to ruin my marriage.” She met the dowager’s glare resolutely. “Believe me when I say I will do anything to prevent that.”