The Duke's Dove

by Lauren Smith

  During the ride toward Thea’s home, his head was strangely empty of thought and his heart devoid of emotion. It was as though some part of him had already died or simply faded away, knowing that he’d lost her.

  Nathan slid off his horse when he reached the front door of the Swann home. A groom collected his reins, and a footman took his hat and gloves.

  “I’m here to see Miss Swann,” he informed the butler.

  “Of course, my lord.” The butler bowed and went to find Thea.

  The Swann home, while not as grand as his own, was warm and comforting, an air of country-house comfort filling every room. The wildflowers painted upon the walls and the warm walnut wood paneling of the rooms made every day feel like spring, even in the midst of the harshest winters. This house, in many ways, had been more a home to Nathan than Hastings Hall.

  “My lord, she is in the orchard, if you wish to join her.”

  “Thank you.” He nodded at the butler and walked through the house, knowing full well the way to the orchard.

  He stepped out onto the back terrace, his heart swelling with a sudden desperate longing as he saw the avenue of green grass lined with blossoming cherry trees. The pink-and-white blooms bedecked every branch of every tree as far as his eye could see. Nathan descended the stone steps and set foot on the soft emerald-green grass. A gentle hush always filled the Swann gardens, as though one had simply slipped into the most wonderful dream just before dawn was about to break. Not a bird trilled too loudly, not a rose grew too many thorns. It was a paradise unlike anything he’d ever known. He moved down the avenue of the pink blur of cherry trees. As their branches quivered and wavered in the slight breeze, they sounded like a dozen women whispering softly behind their bright-pink fans.

  What secrets can the trees read upon my face? Will they know I’ve come to break their mistress’s heart?

  At the end of the lane, beneath the dappled shade of a stout tree, was Thea, a book in her hands. He wanted to run, to call out her name, to erase the fight with his father, but that could never be undone, unless he was willing to hurt her and her family.

  Stopping just short of a dozen feet from her, Nathan’s breath failed him when he first attempted to call out her name.

  “Thea . . .” It was barely above a whisper, yet the breeze carried the sound to her.

  She looked up, her auburn hair glowing like summer gold as her face lit with the smile that had captured his heart when he’d been only fourteen.

  I have loved you, my Thea, more than you can ever know.

  The words were only spoken within himself. They would have cut him to ribbons if he had tried to form them aloud.

  “Nathan!” She leapt to her feet and tossed the book gently onto the grass. Her rose-colored gown was so rich a color, matching the blush of life within her cheeks, that it made his heart stutter in its beats.

  “Thea, wait—” He tried to raise his hands as she threw herself against him, covering his face with kisses as she often did. But this time he couldn’t return them.

  He captured her wrists gently and slowly pushed her away from him.

  “Nathan, what’s wrong?” she asked. The glow of her natural joy diminished as she studied his face more clearly.

  “I . . . spoke with my father.” And that was how he began to tell the woman he loved more than his own life that he could not give her what they had both dreamt of for years.

  “He won’t let us marry?” she asked faintly as she pulled her wrists free of his hands. He let her go, feeling the chasm deepen between them.

  “I told him I would marry you without his permission, but he threatened your father, your whole family. He said your sisters would be out upon the streets—” He stopped, unable to speak the full horror of what his father had warned would befall them. “Thea, please look at me,” he begged.

  She raised her eyes to his, and he saw his entire universe collapse in her eyes, like the death of some distant star that had always guided him home. Now that star was gone, and he was cast adrift, lost forever in a sea of night.

  “But I love you . . . ,” she replied, as though those words held the answer to any challenge they would ever face together.

  “Would you condemn your family to suffer?” Nathan asked quietly. “Would you watch your father become a broken man? Would you want to lose your home and see your mother and sisters starve? I cannot bear that burden. I love you too much. Do you understand?” Where he found the strength to say this he would never know.

  “I understand.” Her voice was very small, like a child who had suddenly learned that she must grow up. Nathan wished then that he could have lied to her, that he could have held her in his arms and told her all would be well, that their lives weren’t on separate paths that would tear them apart forever.

  He reached for her, catching her in his arms when she tried to escape him. She struggled against him before her body surrendered and buried her face against his chest, soaking his waistcoat with her tears. Nathan’s head tilted upward, and he stared through the canopy of brilliant pink-and-white blossoms toward the unforgiving sky far above. A shuddering sigh escaped him as he held her in his arms, his heart beating for what felt like the first time in years, She had always owned his heart. It beat only for her. That would never change.

  “Thea, I will love you until the last star in the sky perishes—and perhaps even beyond.” He swallowed thickly. “You will promise me something.” He raised her chin with one hand so that she met his eyes. “Promise me that you will live a full life. Find a man who will love and adore you and have a passel of children so that someday . . . I will hear of your joy and it will give me some small measure of peace.”

  “Nathan . . .” Her greenish-gray eyes filled with tears, and the sight of her pain in that moment would haunt him until he drew his last breath.

  “Swear to me,” he demanded.

  She nodded.

  “I need to hear the words from your lips.” He cupped her face.

  “I swear it.” Her voice was firm, but her sorrow and grief were living things, morphing into darkening shadows in her eyes, betraying her strength.

  He wanted to kiss her, but if he did, he would never find his own strength to let go.

  Nathan released her, stepped back, and with one last look full of regret, he walked away. The sound of her sobbing his name dug black holes in his heart that would never heal.

  3

  Christmas Eve 1821

  The past was now a painful thing, a creature that no one wanted to see drawn into the light. Yet Nathan was going to face his past tonight in Sir Giles’s ballroom. He cast a glance at his brother. Lewis, as the spare to the heir, had escaped much of their father’s vitriol and had managed to find joy in life, where Nathan and their mother had failed. He seemed completely unperturbed by Nathan’s sudden, stony silence.

  Lewis was still talking, unaware that Nathan had slipped back into his memories a moment ago and was only just now listening to Lewis’s excited chatter.

  “Too many of the Swann ladies are still unwed. Which means I shall have to tread carefully. Wouldn’t want Mr. Swann catching me compromising one of his daughters. He’d have my head or my proposal. Neither situation appeals to me.” Lewis snickered.

  Nathan shook his head. Someday Lewis would be trapped either in a marriage or a duel.

  A young, ruddy-faced footman rushed out to meet them and opened the door. “Welcome, Your Grace, my lord. We’re so sorry about the delay. The other carriages were stuck in the snow, and it took us a minute to move them.” He bowed to Lewis and Nathan.

  Nathan offered a weary smile to the lad. He was probably the only man in England who wasn’t fond of having a title—or at least he wasn’t fond of the responsibilities and expectations that came with it. The only benefit was it meant his father was dead. There had been no love lost between the late Duke of Hastings and his two sons, even before their father had prevented Nathan from proposing to Thea.

  The “Old Cu
rmudgeon,” as Lewis often called him, had been bad-tempered, even on his best days. There was no satisfying him, no pleasing him. It was only after the man had died unexpectedly that Nathan had realized he’d given up everything he’d loved, when he could have asked Thea to wait. But then, at twenty years old, Nathan hadn’t been able to see eight years into the future and know his father would be gone. All he’d known was that his father would likely have tried to live forever just to spite Nathan. And now it was too late. Thea was no doubt married. She would have kept her word as she’d promised that awful day.

  Fresh pain pricked his heart as he knew he would face her for the first time since they’d last seen each other eight years ago. Despite the general closeness of upper-class English society, he’d kept himself far away from any social circles that would have brought her into his view or even into conversation.

  Yes, he’d demanded that she agree to move on, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be forced to face that painful reality again and again. He’d accepted that he was a coward long ago. So he’d become a recluse, hiding away at his estate in the country or traveling north to see to his land holdings in Scotland. His plan had worked. He’d heard not one word about Thea or any of the Swanns, and for that he’d been grateful—until tonight.

  “You all right, brother?” Lewis asked as they both stood facing the front door of Sir Giles’s home.

  “No, no, I’m afraid I’m not,” he muttered.

  Lewis quirked a questioning brow. “Perhaps Thea won’t be here tonight.”

  “I fear luck is never with a man like me.” She would most certainly be here, and he would be forced to watch her dance around the ballroom with a dashing man and hear whispers of her beautiful children and wonderful life, every bit of which she deserved.

  His little brother clapped a gloved hand on his shoulder. “We shan’t stay long, then. A few dances and we can make our apologies and slip away.”

  “No, I don’t wish to deprive you of tonight’s merriment. I will endure.” Nathan tried to sound teasing, but from the look of pity on Lewis’s face, he knew he’d failed miserably.

  They ascended the steps to the black-painted oak doors of Pemberton Hall, tramping through the thick snow that layered the stone stairs, where the butler waited to take their greatcoats. Lewis, only a few steps ahead of Nathan, turned to flash him a smile and a wink before ducking into the grand ballroom, where he quickly vanished into the crowd.

  Nathan scowled. He despised these social gatherings. Everyone attempted to throw their daughters under his feet, as though expecting him to propose marriage the second he tripped over them. More than once he’d narrowly avoided being trapped alone in a room with a young woman.

  Once in that very scenario, he’d realized he was about to be “discovered” alone with a trembling young woman who clearly was terrified to be alone with a man. He’d made a hasty apology and run to the nearest window, which thankfully had been partially opened. Just as the girl’s father’s boots in the hall heralded Nathan’s doom, Nathan had leapt clear through into a patch of thick hedges. He’d then ducked down and crawled upon his belly through the flower beds along the base of the house, careful to avoid detection by the father, who’d expected to find his daughter in the arms of a duke. During his crawling escape, Nathan had nearly choked in fear as he’d come face to face with a pair of boots. When he’d lifted his head, he’d been relieved to see a gardener, not the girl’s father, staring down at him.

  “Your Grace?” the man had asked.

  “Sorry, my good man. Just thought I’d take a turn about the gardens. Could you kindly have a groom bring my horse around?”

  The gardener had chuckled. “Of course, Your Grace. You wouldn’t be the first man crawling to freedom, I’ll tell you that much.” The old man had walked off chuckling.

  The memory of that particularly fine spring day of him riding away at a breakneck pace from that manor house, his waistcoat ruined with soil, caused him almost to smile. Almost. Thea would have laughed at him. She— He stopped that thought before it could continue.

  The sudden prospect of possibly seeing Thea again had him on edge with a mix of anticipation and dire dread, the combination of which was tossing his insides about as though he were on a ship in the midst of a vast and mighty storm. He ran his hand over his jaw and tried to still his nerves. Was she here? His hands were shaking as he tried in vain to steady himself. Would he see her standing there with the glow of love in her eyes for another man? If he did, could he bear it? Even if he couldn’t, he had to try—he had to do it for her. She couldn’t see him agonized like that; she didn’t deserve it. With a deep breath, Nathan stepped into Sir Giles’s ballroom.

  The elegant golden-floored ballroom teemed with local gentry and many familiar faces from London. Sir Giles was a rare sort of man who could call the lowest gentlemen up to dukes his friends and get them all to pleasantly mingle without incident. Candles cast flickering shadows along the walls of those who stood talking and laughing. Light and laughter filled the room. A string quartet played lively tunes, filling the room with the delightful sounds. It would have been a magical night if it weren’t for the stabbing pain of his broken heart.

  He closed his eyes only briefly, willing himself with all his heart to pretend that this night was a night from eight years ago, a night in the past where he was still young, still hopeful. When he opened his eyes again, the world seemed to glow just a bit brighter, the laughter rang a bit louder, and his heart was a bit less . . . broken. Yes, he could hold this illusion together for a few hours, for his brother’s sake.

  Along the back of the narrow end of the ballroom a long table was adorned with a white cloth. Food and freshly poured glasses of champagne and ratafia on top of the table were ready for the guests. Quite a few of the younger men lingered around a punch bowl that Nathan suspected contained far too many spirits, judging by the grins on their eager faces. That was bound to be trouble later. His lips twitched as he saw Lewis among the young men, talking and laughing, always at the center of trouble.

  He smoothed his hands over his white linen shirt and tugged on the edges of his black superfine coat. Even though there was not a single wrinkle in his clothing, he felt . . . unsettled and unprepared for whatever was to come.

  Damned balls. He hated formal attire, but the black breeches and stockings were an unfortunate requirement. He’d even allowed his valet to talk him into the Trone d’Amour style of folds for his cravat tonight. A fleet-footed thought darted through his mind as he studied the ladies nearest him, searching for the one woman who mattered. Would Thea still think him handsome? Would she still be in awe of him as she had been so long ago? Or would that husband he’d beseeched her to find now be the sole focus of her heart? Of course he would. His and Thea’s love had been a first love—no less strong, no less important, but it was untried, untested by the might of destiny. She would look upon him with a fondness for that dim, golden, glowing memory of what they’d once shared. But it would pain her no longer, of that he must be certain. Thea loved too greatly to not give the man she married her full heart.

  I will be but a phantom of her youth in her mind, nothing more, and I must be content.

  He focused on the women around him and studied the numerous faces surrounded by ringlets or half-hidden by fluttering fans. Attracted by any flicker of feminine movement, he sought Thea’s likeness in each face, yet he didn’t see her. His heart dropped, and his forced smile faltered. Maybe she wasn’t here.

  Relief warred with disappointment. He pushed his way deeper into the ballroom, noticing an alcove he hadn’t seen from his former position. He took refuge there, hoping to get a better glimpse of the women in the room. Leaning against the marble column nearest him, he crossed his arms over his chest and stayed within the shadows provided by the alcove as he continued to survey the room.

  Evergreen strands circled the columns at the edges of the room, and boughs of mistletoe had been hung with care above many of the windo
ws where couples might linger and steal a kiss when no one was watching. Gentlemen escorted women who wore their best evening gowns as they moved about. Each time a man lowered his head to whisper to his female companion and Nathan saw an answering smile, flashes of heartbreak and envy rippled through him.

  The press of so many bodies and the general noise of the social chatter all around him was smothering. He couldn’t stay here much longer. Deciding to seek out fresh air, even if it was freezing, he straightened from his leaning position and searched for the best way to sneak out into the terraced gardens outside.

  The dancers nearest him moved in and out of view as they twirled. When a large group of couples passed by, they revealed a glowing presence just beyond. He stood there, struck still as he saw Theodosia Swann for the first time in eight years. She was just as beautiful as before—even more so. His breath froze in his lungs as he drank in the sight of her.

  She wore a deep-emerald satin gown, with a gold netting overskirt that glittered as she moved. Her hair was pulled back from her face, with matching green ribbons threaded among her silken locks. Easily the most beautiful woman in the ballroom tonight, she had become the woman he’d always known she would be, the woman who by rights should have been his.

  His mouth dried, and he struggled to swallow past the lump in his throat. His body was rooted to the spot as he stood stiff and taut with indecision. Should he go to her? What would she want him to do? Would she be happy to see him? Would she smile at him and recall fond memories of their youthful love, or would she wish to avoid him? Had she dreamt of him every night as he did her, or would her husband now rightfully occupy the realm of her dreams?

  Thea stood out in the midst of her six younger sisters like the North Star in the winter skies, shimmering, glittering, all alone in the dark expanse of the inky universe. Yet she was none the weaker for it. She was brighter, more enchanting.

  Thea. My Thea.