My Once and Future Duke

by Caroline Linden

  Now she was piqued. “Stop blaming Philip,” she snapped. “I wasn’t speaking of your duty to him, but of your duty to Ware. Your father would be gravely disappointed.”

  Jack said nothing. For seven years he had done everything possible to make his father proud, and never once had his mother complimented him on it. She only mentioned how disappointed his father would be whenever Jack refused to do as she wished. And Jack had long since given up trying not to disappoint his mother.

  “There.” Her tone softened at his lack of argument. “Leave Philip to his own devices tonight. I am sure he cannot get into very much trouble in the span of a few hours. Come with me to the theatre.”

  “The theatre,” he repeated in surprise. This was new, this gentle entreaty.

  “Yes.” She sipped her tea. “I have already invited Lady Stowe and Lucinda to share my box. They will be so delighted to see you at last.”

  But he would be more delighted to see Sophie. Lady Stowe talked a great deal and laughed even more, a high girlish titter that made his head ache. Jack couldn’t fathom spending three hours trapped in a theatre box with her. “Not tonight, Mother.”

  The duchess sighed. “Wait.” She motioned to the footmen, who silently left the room. “Let us be plain with each other, dear. You are being unpardonably rude to Lucinda and Lady Stowe.”

  “Rude!” Jack began to wish he’d taken breakfast in his study. “How have I been rude to Lucinda?”

  His mother gave him a severe look. “You have avoided her all Season when you ought to have been doing the precise opposite.”

  “I have not avoided her,” he said. “I have been otherwise engaged. And more to the point, why on earth should I seek her out? That is what you mean, isn’t it?”

  “You know very well what I mean. Everyone expects you to propose marriage to her this year.”

  If the ceiling had caved in on them, Jack couldn’t have been more astonished. “Propose? Marriage—to Lucinda? She’s just a girl,” he protested, incredulous.

  “She’s eighteen,” replied his mother, unruffled. “And you gave your father your word, as he lay dying, that you would marry her. She’s grown up expecting your offer, and now you’re haring about London like a boy just out of university without a care in the world when you should be courting her.”

  Jack was dumbfounded. It was true he had promised his father that he would look out for Lucinda, but . . . marry her? No, he most certainly had not promised that. He glanced at his mother, hoping to see some trace of hesitation, but she was wholly serious. Good God. Did she really think he had engaged himself to a child, seven years ago . . . ?

  He leaned back in his chair, suddenly filled with suspicion. “Mother, I never vowed to marry her. She was a child when Father died.”

  “And he begged you to look after her, the daughter of his dearest friend.”

  “Right. ‘Look after her’—that’s what he asked, and that’s what I promised. And I have.”

  The duchess waved one hand. “A few bills paid! That’s not what your father meant, and you know it.”

  It had been far more than that. Jack knew Percy had been acting virtually as Lady Stowe’s man of business for the last seven years, letting her houses, hiring her servants, arranging for everything a household could need in London. Knowing Lady Stowe, he’d probably paid a great many bills of hers, as well. Jack was sure the new Lord Stowe, younger brother of the late earl, appreciated that very much, as his sister-in-law was not known to be a thrifty woman.

  But Jack had been glad to do it. It was the last thing his father had ever asked of him, and he would have walked through fire to keep his promise. He remembered the day his father and Stowe, friends since Eton, had set out on the duke’s yacht, Circe. There was a brisk wind, a few raindrops now and then from the gray sky above, but nothing ominous in the air. A good day for sailing, the duke had declared. Sailing was his passion, and the river near Kirkwood was wide and smooth.

  Stowe hadn’t wanted to go. Lady Stowe was unwell, expecting a child, and she wanted Stowe to attend her. He still didn’t have an heir, only a daughter, Lucinda. She was a quiet, bookish girl, tall and gangly at eleven, her wiry red hair always falling over her face, at least in Jack’s memory. He had been home only because his favorite horse had developed a foot infection and the grooms at Kirkwood were the best in England. And by that unfortunate stroke of luck for his horse, Jack was there when his father and Stowe climbed aboard the Circe with a pair of servants and set sail.

  The storm hit suddenly, blowing up the river in a matter of hours. It passed just as quickly, but when the sun came out again, the Circe limped back to shore, her main sail ripped and trailing in the water. A swell had almost capsized the boat, and Stowe was swept overboard. In horror, the duke had dived in after his friend, to no avail. The servants and the duchess had to drag the duke to his bed. By the next day he had a raging fever, and Lord Stowe’s body washed ashore not far from the house.

  It took four days for the duke to succumb to the fever. The doctors came and bled him several times before saying there was nothing else they could do. Privately Jack thought Lady Stowe’s screams of grief, and the news that she had lost her unborn child, had made his father want to die. I killed him, the duke repeated over and over in delirium. I killed Stowe. The night before he died, he’d grasped Jack’s hand and made him swear he would look out for Lady Stowe and her daughter. Unnerved and frightened by his father’s weakening health, Jack swore it.

  But that promise had not been to marry Lucinda. He narrowed his eyes at his mother, guessing what she was up to. “If he had asked for my promise to marry Lucinda—who was, as noted, merely eleven years old at the time—I would have refused, not only for my sake but for Lucinda’s. She deserves to have some say in her husband. You and Lady Stowe have decided I ought to marry her, haven’t you?”

  “It would be for your own good,” she replied, unrepentant. “You’ve gone completely mad lately. Your father would be appalled if he heard half the things you’ve done in the last month. Trust me in this—marry a proper young lady, one who’s grown up preparing to be your duchess, and it will restore you to your right self.”

  “My right self,” he echoed in disgust.

  “Precisely.” She nodded once. “You are a duke, a Lindeville, and must live like one, with a respectable duchess. It’s time you saw to your duty to have an heir.”

  Jack barely heard that last shot about duty. His mind had belatedly stuck on one thing his mother said: Lucinda had grown up believing he would marry her. Christ. Was that true? It would put him in a terrible spot if so. Even though he’d never mentioned marriage to her, even though she’d never hinted she expected him to, if she believed they were informally engaged, and had been for years, what could he do? He had taken care of her and her mother as if they were family. If everyone in town believed he and Lucinda were betrothed . . . if his own mother and Lady Stowe had been telling people there would be a marriage . . . everyone would believe it.

  Even worse, Lucinda might believe it. She had made her debut this Season, the only child of the late earl with a handsome dowry. All of London would expect her to make a splendid match this year.

  And Lucinda herself . . . They’d always got on well. If Lucinda expected to marry him, she’d never said a word, not even in jest. But perhaps she’d not thought about it. She was a pretty girl, and an eligible one. Had she really been preparing to be his duchess since she was eleven? Had she turned down offers of marriage because she expected one from him? Jack rubbed his suddenly damp palms on his knees. Bloody hell.

  It wasn’t merely that he didn’t trust his mother not to manipulate things to suit her. It wasn’t even that he didn’t wish to marry Lucinda, who was more of a younger sister to him than a desirable woman. It was that he’d damn near decided he wanted to marry Sophie, her secrets and mysteries be damned. He wanted her. He wanted to be with her, all the time. He was falling in love with her.

  What would he do
about Sophie, if he found himself unwittingly engaged to marry Lucinda Afton?

  Chapter 21

  Sophie knew she was running a tremendous risk by continuing to see Jack. Every night that he came to her door was another chance for a nosy neighbor to spy him and start malicious rumors that could upend her life. She’d already had to tell Colleen, after Jack left his gloves in the hall one night and Colleen discovered them the next morning, and even though the maid promised to be discreet, Sophie was acutely aware that most servants gossiped. More than once she told herself to make a clean break with him, for her own good and for his.

  But then he would tap on her door, and she would fling it open without hesitation, her heart soaring as he slipped in and caught her close for a passionate kiss. It was enough to make her abandon her own rules, despite the risks. Love might be making her stupid, but it was also making her the happiest she’d been in many years. At times she felt like she was glowing with joy, just thinking of him, and therefore she resolutely refused to think about how or when it might end.

  There was one test she dreaded, though, and before long it arrived. Sophie had put off her friends again and again. She knew they had heard something of her scandalous wager. At first she had brushed their questions aside, calling it a momentary and mortifying lapse in judgment. That was true, and it aligned with the story she put out to everyone else. Once Jack began spending almost every night in her bed, though, she couldn’t maintain the lie, not to her dearest friends—but neither could she settle on what to tell them. She postponed their regular tea and responded to their letters without mentioning a word about Vega’s or Jack or much of anything, really; she wrote of the weather and the new shoes she bought.

  It wore on her. She didn’t want to lie to Eliza and Georgiana, but neither did she want to drive them away by being distant and secretive. When Eliza sent a note asking if they would take tea together as usual after several weeks, she replied in the affirmative. The gossip about her wager seemed to have died down. No one in London seemed to know about her affair with Jack. She could only hope her friends had lost interest in the whole thing. And if they hadn’t, and asked directly about the wager or Jack . . . she would have to remind herself that it was for their own good that she didn’t tell them everything. The Countess of Sidlow was very vigilant of Georgiana’s associations, and even Mr. Cross, who had been such a friend to her, might balk at letting his only daughter spend time with a loose woman.

  She went down to her tiny drawing room when Colleen announced Eliza’s arrival. “Eliza! It’s so good to see you again.”

  The other girl smiled and returned her embrace. “And you! I’ve been perishing of curiosity to hear from you, and you’ve been a terrible correspondent of late.”

  She had been, deliberately. But if she meant to continue seeing Jack, she’d better learn how to carry on with her life and still keep her secret.

  Sophie flipped one hand carelessly and took a seat. “I’m much the same as ever. How have you been? I trust your father is well.”

  “Papa is very well,” said Eliza, beaming now. “As am I. Oh heavens—I can’t keep my news secret any longer! Sophie, I’ve met a gentleman!”

  Sophie gasped. “You have? Eliza, how wonderful!” It was clear from Eliza’s flushed happy face that she had more than met a gentleman. Eliza had met many gentlemen . . . who were all well aware of that fact that she was sole heiress to her father’s considerable wealth. None of them had made Eliza blush and smile as she was doing now. “Who? When did you meet him? How have you not said a word about him before?”

  Eliza laughed. “He’s wonderful! He really notices me, Sophie. He’s engaged in some business with Papa, so he comes to call regularly, and he pays attention to me as no one else ever has.” She rolled her eyes and gave an embarrassed laugh. “Of course, he’s so charming, he may treat every young lady that way, which is why I didn’t say anything sooner . . .”

  Sophie scoffed. “Only if they are as sweet and kind as you, but so few are. I don’t see how all the decent gentlemen in London don’t fall in love with you.”

  Her friend blushed. “That’s ridiculous and you know it. But . . . oh Sophie, I’m in love!”

  Even though she felt genuine joy for Eliza, even though the starry look in Eliza’s eyes made her truly pleased, Sophie felt a sharp pang in her chest. She couldn’t say that she too had fallen in love, because her love was not the respectable kind that might lead to a happily-ever-after. Her throat felt tight and her smile a little wistful as she said, “Tell me everything.”

  Eliza didn’t need to be begged. She moved to the edge of her seat, her eyes shining. “Everything! There isn’t much to tell, not really. I thought he was merely another of Papa’s business partners when he first came to call, but before long he began making a point of seeing me—just politely, you know—when he came to see Papa. One day he arrived early, while Papa was still out, and we walked in the garden for quite a while, talking. I’d no idea how fast the time had gone by until Papa came and said he’d been home and waiting for half an hour! And then he apologized so handsomely, even Papa couldn’t be annoyed, and you know how he dislikes waiting.”

  Sophie laughed. “He does!” When she spent holidays at the Cross home, she had learned not to be even a moment late to dinner. “Does your father know you care for him?”

  Her friend’s cheeks grew even pinker. “He does. Papa approves. And—and Papa hinted that His Lordship has spoken to him about me. Sophie . . . I think he’s going to propose!”

  Sophie clapped her hands together, beaming helplessly at Eliza’s joy. “Oh Eliza—how thrilling! But wait—you’ve not said his name! Who is to be my almost brother-in-law?” she teased.

  “Oh!” Eliza laughed, blushing at her own omission. “How could I forget? Hugh Deveraux, Earl of Hastings,” she recited, each word soft with love.

  Sophie blinked in surprise. “Indeed,” she said after a pause. “The Earl of Hastings?”

  “Yes.” Eliza’s green eyes grew dreamy at the mention of his name.

  Colleen brought in the refreshments then, giving Sophie a welcome moment to think as she poured the tea and offered her friend some cake. She knew that name. Lord Hastings was often at Vega’s. He was handsome and genial, but Sophie had never sat at a table with him because he played for far higher stakes than she dared attempt. She knew nothing else about him, but it put her on guard.

  But surely Mr. Cross did. Edward Cross always seemed to know everything about everyone, and there was no way he would allow a reckless gambler, let alone a ramshackle fortune hunter, to spend a minute alone with his daughter. Mr. Cross wanted nothing but the best for Eliza, even to the point of helping her friends. He’d taken in Sophie with open arms when Eliza invited her to their home at holidays; he’d vouched for her when she applied to Vega’s. Sophie knew he’d even looked the other way when Eliza urged her to take all her pin money, in the threadbare days when she’d first come to London. The man missed nothing.

  Lord Hastings must be perfectly acceptable then, despite the whispers Sophie had heard about large losses. The earl didn’t look like a man in dire straits, and he certainly didn’t act like one. Mr. Dashwood would have revoked his membership if he lost more than he could afford, which must mean he was well able to afford any losses. Or perhaps he won a great deal.

  Thank heavens; she’d never seen Eliza so excited and happy about a suitor. That was the main point here, and she was happy to return to it. “I suppose your father gave his blessing.”

  Eliza laughed. “Of course he did. Lord Hastings invited me to call at Hastings House, and presented me to his mother the countess. She was so kind and gracious. I’ve not met his sisters yet, but . . .” She shook her head, her face glowing with happiness. “I never knew my mother,” she added softly. “To fall in love with a gentleman, and gain not only a husband but a mother and sisters . . . Could I truly be so lucky?”

  Sophie squashed her doubts. “Of course you could! Of course you
should be. You’re quite the kindest person I know, Eliza, and Lord Hastings is the lucky one if you’ve fallen in love with him.”

  The other girl wrinkled her nose and laughed again. “I can only hope he agrees! Oh, Sophie, I wish you could be so lucky too, to find someone to love.”

  “Pssh! Luck is a myth,” Sophie said with a slightly forced laugh.

  Something in her face must have given her away, for Eliza’s smile dimmed. “What’s happened?”

  She sipped her tea and glanced at the windows. “Nothing! But where is Georgiana? She’s extraordinarily late, even for her. Have you told her about Hastings?”

  “Oh.” Eliza went still. “I—I forgot. Georgiana won’t be able to join us today, but she does send her best regards.”

  “No? Is she ill, or . . . ?” Sophie’s voice died away as she took in Eliza’s clenched hands and unblinking expression. Her spirits deflated as she guessed what had kept Georgiana from calling. “She isn’t allowed to come, is she? Lady Sidlow won’t let her.”

  Eliza rolled her eyes. “Lady Sidlow won’t let her attend Astley’s for fear it’s too stimulating. She had an appointment with the modiste, or some such thing. She sent me a note yesterday and asked me to tell you when I arrived . . .”

  “Eliza.” Sophie waited. “You don’t have to lie.”

  The other girl pursed her lips and looked out the window for a moment. “No, Lady Sidlow won’t let her come,” she said at last. “Now that they’re making plans for the wedding at long last, Lady Sidlow says she must be far more vigilant about anything that might offend Lord Sterling or anger Lord Wakefield. But Sterling loves her. He knows you are her friend, and he’s never once objected. And it’s not as if his soul is noble and pure! He gambles, too, and he used to go to immoral houses from time to time—” She blushed as Sophie gaped at her. “Papa said so. He adores Georgiana, you know that, and he wanted to be certain Sterling was a good match for her. He had someone look up the viscount.”