Reforming the Duke

by Keira Montclair

  “I don’t know what you are talking about. I fell. I fell down the stairs this morning and my finger caught on the railing.” Her chin came up as she returned his glare.

  His mother led Emma, who was once again in her own gown, toward the back room. “Lady Downey, perhaps we will take a look at those bolts of cloth now.”

  Philip stepped closer to Sara. She did not back down. Neither did he. He couldn’t—not when he was certain someone had deliberately harmed her. He ran his finger softly along her cheek. “Someone did this to you. I would know who, please.”

  He caressed the pulse in her neck, unable to stop himself, and breathed in her sweet scent. Tears formed on her lashes.

  “You are wrong, Your Grace,” she whispered. “It was just an accident.” She lowered her eyes and turned away from him. She let her breath out. “It is not your concern.”

  “I just made it my concern. I will find out, Lady Downey,” he promised. “And whoever hurt you will pay.”

  Chapter Five

  Sara turned the sign around immediately after the St. James family’s departure. She could not bear to see any more customers. Her hand shook as pain jolted up her arm from the small movement. Truth was, the Duke of Brentwood totally unnerved her. She’d expected him to be as distant and cold as he’d been in their first encounter, but he’d surprised her. He was so sweet with his sister, and his blue eyes glowed with warmth whenever he spoke to her. And the way he’d touched Sara’s arm. Her neck. The gentleness of it had shocked her. Although he was stronger than the man who’d assaulted her earlier, and so tall he could look down on Sara—who’d always been quite tall for a woman—he didn’t frighten her. Quite the opposite. Her stomach churned with butterflies in his presence. No one had ever affected her so, including her husband, but she told herself it was merely the man’s rank that impressed her. Surely it was.

  She had so wanted to confide in him. How wonderful it would have been if she could have leaned into him and allowed him to hold her. If she could have poured out her heart in the warm safety of his embrace. Fear had held her back—the dirty man had been very clear in his threats. Besides, the Duke of Brentwood would hardly have taken an interest in the woman whose husband had broken up his marriage.

  To think otherwise was to dream, and Sara was quite sure she’d done enough dreaming for two lifetimes.

  ***

  Philip had tried to forget Lady Downey, both the way she affected him and those bruises he’d seen on her arms, but he’d spent a sleepless night thinking of nothing but her. He’d awakened twice last night—once from a very pleasant dream that had aroused him to the point of pain, and another time from a nightmare of a man beating Sara. Both circumstances had left him so frustrated he was forced to take action.

  In fact, he was so taken with her that he’d decided it was time to end things with Miranda, although he hadn’t found the time to attend to that yet. He doubted she would care overly much—their interactions had lacked emotion from start to finish, which was precisely why the relationship, such as it was, had worked.

  He left early for White’s the next morning, intending to speak to his friend Ardleigh. Philip had decided he would find out everything he could about Sara’s situation. It was the only way he could help her, and helping her was the only way he could get her out of his head. He hoped.

  He strode into the club with a stern look on his face and found Ardleigh in the corner reading the newspaper.

  “Brentwood,” Ardleigh announced. “What brings you out so early this morning?”

  “I am here because I need information. I require someone who will discreetly ascertain some facts for me. But no one can know what I am doing, especially my target.”

  Ardleigh chuckled lightly. “Sounds like another female has gotten into your head, Brentwood. The only question is, who is she?”

  “None of your concern,” Philip said, his tone sharp. “And you are a good example of why I need someone who can be discreet.”

  “Ah, but you know I cannot wait to see you settled with another woman, my friend. But this time, I encourage you to choose someone of better character,” Ardleigh said with a smile.

  “Worry about your own woman, not mine. Lady Montrose meets my needs perfectly.” Philip strode to the window and stared through it, deliberately turning away from his friend. Ardleigh had always possessed an enviable ability to detect lies, and Philip wasn’t ready to tell him about his decision to break ties with Miranda. Not yet. Something told him Ardleigh would find the timing suspect, and he was not inclined to explain himself.

  “Oh, I do worry about my woman. But then you know how much I adore my wife. It is because of Phoebe that I am always after you. I would be lost without her. You deserve to have a wonderful woman at your side, too. A real wife.” Ardleigh stared at Brentwood with a serious expression. “I am not jesting; I mean what I say.”

  “It isn’t that easy,” Philip said as he shook his head. “Back to my original purpose, can you help me? Is there someone trustworthy and discreet you can recommend?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, yes. Just tell me why you need him, and I will gladly give you the name.” Ardleigh peered over the edge of his newspaper.

  Brentwood’s fist came down hard on the small table in front of his friend. “Give it up, Ardleigh! It is none of your concern.”

  “Bloody hell, Brentwood. Calm down,” the other man said, raising his hands as if to say he conceded. “What has you in such a state? All right, I will give you his name.” Ardleigh wrote the name on a piece of paper and handed it to Brentwood. “But you are to inform me if there is trouble.”

  Brentwood grabbed the paper from Ardleigh’s hand and studied it carefully, then he stormed out the door without another word.

  Chapter Six

  Sara sat at her table counting her coins. Almost a week had passed since the attack. She didn’t have as much money as she’d hoped, but then again, she didn’t really know how much she needed. Why hadn’t Stinky told her? She smiled at her name for him, wrinkling her nose at the memory.

  It felt good to smile at his expense, especially since the memory of his invasion had kept her from sleeping soundly for the past several days. When she was awake, she jolted at every sound; when she was asleep, she suffered from nightmares. The fear she had that he would return before the end of the promised week churned in her belly. Sara placed her money back into the box and hid it.

  Fortunately, her business had been successful. With the St. James order, she almost had more work than she could handle. She stayed up late many nights working on Emma’s gowns, even though the duchess had given her a very reasonable amount of time to complete them. Of course, she would not get paid until the order was delivered. If the dowager duchess was satisfied with her work, it would go a long way toward helping establish her business. Many of the ton followed the duchess’s lead.

  She had one other affliction she couldn’t control. Every time she worked on the St. James order, her mind drifted to Philip St. James, the handsome duke. Could she believe what he’d said the other day? Would he try to find out who had hurt her?

  At night, when she could not sleep, she let herself pretend. In those precious moments, she imagined what life would be like if the duke were her husband. They would adore each other, and he would ensure her attacker was arrested for his crimes. And since it was a dream, she also entertained the notion that he’d encourage her to continue working as a dressmaker even as he asked her to be his duchess.

  A ridiculous thought, of course. No duke would allow his wife to work in a dress shop. Nor would anyone in the ton wish to marry an abandoned woman, even if such a thing were possible.

  There was no harm in dreaming, fortunately.

  Sara checked her image in the looking glass across from her. Her eyes remained red and droopy from exhaustion. She yawned. There was nothing for it—she wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly until after Stinky was paid off and promised to leave her alone.

 
; He would leave her alone, wouldn’t he? She cringed at the thought, but fortunately, her mind was distracted by the ringing of her front bell. She pinched color into her cheeks and forced a smile as she walked into the front room.

  “Oh,” she said softly when she saw her visitor. Miranda Montrose stood in the middle of the front room with her hands on her curvy hips. The lady was a notorious beauty, from her voluptuous curves to her dark hair, blue eyes, and lovely olive-toned skin. However, no one admired her beauty more than Miranda did. In Sara’s opinion, Miranda’s vanity only fed her tendency to be difficult.

  “Well, if it isn’t the mousy girl that spends all her time trying to be part of the ton. You can no longer act that way, Sara.” Miranda eyed her viciously, as if daring her to retaliate.

  “Act what way, Lady Montrose?” Sara asked, all innocence.

  “Stop playing the martyr. I know your kind. You are trying to find some rich nobleman. Who could possibly be interested in a homely girl who spends most of her time on her knees, pinning hems?” Miranda’s chin tilted in the air as she glared at Sara.

  Sara’s blood boiled. She counted to ten, reminding herself it wouldn’t help her get business from the ton if she told Miranda exactly what she thought of her.

  “How can I help you today, Lady Montrose?” Sara asked, her head held high.

  “Stop acting like you are something special, Miss Sara. After all, whose husband took off after only six months? You must have been wonderful in the bedroom. Six months. You couldn’t even keep a man happy for six months.” Miranda sneered at Sara, perusing her up and down.

  Sara blushed but refused to back down.

  “You better keep your eyes off my man, Miss Sara. If I ever see you talking to him again, you will regret it. Of course, I am not worried, he knows a real woman when he sees one.” Miranda continued to stand there with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot rudely as she studied Sara. If she expected some sort of reaction, she was bound to be disappointed.

  “Lady Montrose, I do not know who your man is. But do not worry, the last thing I am interested in is another husband.”

  “Who said anything about a husband? You will never get another husband.” Miranda leaned over and peered into Sara’s face with an expression of sheer hatred. “But you better stay away from the duke. Do not even look at him. He is mine.”

  At that moment, the door opened, and the bell tinkled.

  “Why, whoever are you talking about, Lady Montrose? Who is yours?”

  Miranda spun around and found herself staring into the expectant gaze of the dowager duchess.

  “Good morning to you, Lady Downey.” Mary St. James peered around Lady Montrose and smiled at Sara.

  “Oh! Your Grace,” Miranda sputtered. “I didn’t realize you were there.”

  “Well, of course not. I just walked in. But it seems that you were taking issue with Lady Downey over something. Can I be of any assistance, Lady Montrose?” The duchess stood squarely in front of Miranda, staring at her with open amusement. Her small frame did not detract from her presence. Mary St. James could cast an intimidating air with just a glance. Presently, that look was directed at Miranda Montrose. Sara felt quite lucky that it was not directed at her instead.

  Miranda squirmed. “No, everything is fine, Your Grace. Actually, I believe it is time for me to depart.” She hurried to the door, pausing to glare at Sara one last time before slamming it shut behind her.

  The duchess smiled at Sara. “Why a woman of such beauty would be so unpleasant is beyond me. Do not allow Lady Montrose’s threats to frighten you, my dear. She enjoys hearing her own voice.”

  Sara’s relief was immediate. “How can I help you today, Your Grace? I am sorry, but I don’t have any of Emma’s gowns ready yet, but I will have the first two as promised next week.”

  “Oh, that is not why I am here, Lady Downey. I so enjoyed examining all of your new bolts of fabric that I have decided to order a few new gowns for myself. Would you have time to take my measurements?” she asked with a smile.

  “Oh, of course,” Sara said, already calculating the coin this would bring in. And if the duchess praised her work… The word of mouth alone would be an invaluable boon. “Please come right this way.” Sara ushered her into the measuring room.

  “Please, Lady Downey, call me Mary. We need not be so formal. May I call you Sara?”

  “Of course, Your Grace, I mean, Mary. Of course you may call me Sara. May I ask what types of gowns you are interested in?” Sara smiled at the lovely woman. Emma was lucky to have such a thoughtful and caring mother. Although how the duke fit in with the other two, she wasn’t quite sure. He was capable of kindness, but there was a fearsome intensity to the man.

  “Well, take my measurements first, then we will look at the cloth again. Does that sound acceptable to you?” Mary asked.

  “Certainly. Step right up here, and we will get started.” Sara led her to the platform in the center of the room.

  “Sara, do I know your mother?” Mary asked. “You look so familiar to me, my dear.”

  “No, I don’t believe so. My mother died when I was young. I was raised by my father, and he died about a year ago.” Sara bustled about, picking up her tape and paper to write on.

  “Oh, child, I am so sorry! Do you have other family in London?”

  “No, I don’t have any other family I am aware of. My father never spoke about family much. I’m not sure where he made his money, but he took good care of me. We were alone, but happy. I miss him very much,” Sara said quietly. She set to work taking the duchess’s measurements.

  “You have had a tough life for someone so young.” Mary shook her head. “By the way, how is your arm faring? You say you fell down the stairs?”

  “Yes, I fell.” She peered at her finger anxiously. “But my finger is fine. No reason to concern yourself, Mary. It is easily kept out of the way.”

  “Oh, you poor thing. It troubles me that you’re here all on your own. I understand your husband has left you in a terrible situation, but your father would surely not approve. How are you managing?”

  Sara’s eyes misted slightly, but she refused to give in to tears. How she craved the opportunity to share her fears with someone, but Mary was a duchess. She had many more important things to do than to listen to Sara’s troubles. No doubt she was just being polite.

  “I am getting along fine. I enjoy sewing, and business has picked up. I am too busy to feel sorry for myself.” Oh, how she wished that were true. Well, it used to be true. Or at least mostly true. But ever since Stinky had barged into her shop, she’d started to wonder if fate was tilted against her.

  “Now, you listen to me, young lady. I know it is none of my business, but I am going to make it my business. I see a very proud young woman in front of me trying to put up a good front while her world tumbles down around her. You probably feel very alone but will not ask anyone for help. You mind my words, Lady Downey. When your troubles become too much for you to handle, you must share them. No one should be alone in this world. In fact,” Mary St. James implored, “I want you to promise me that you will come to me when you need help.”

  “Your Grace, that is very kind of you, but I am fine,” Sara insisted.

  “Mary…” The dowager tipped her head at Sara.

  “Your pardon. Mary.” She blushed again, feeling like a child in the presence of this kind yet powerful lady. Being reprimanded, no matter how sweetly, never pleased her.

  “I can see it in your eyes. You’re in trouble. You may not be ready to ask for help yet, but when you are, will you promise to come to me?” Mary’s eyes never faltered.

  “Really, there is no need.” Sara blushed as she stared at the paper in front of her.

  “That is not what I asked. Will you promise?” The duchess reached down and tugged her chin up until she met her gaze.

  Sara didn’t think she had much choice in the matter, so she promised. “All right, if you insist, Your Grace.”

&nb
sp; “Thank you. Now, do you know how to get in touch with me?” Mary asked.

  “Yes, I know where you live, thank you.” She barely managed to stutter the words out through her shock. Could she actually do it? Could she call upon Mary St. James and ask her for help?

  “Well, then, now that you have finished with my measurements, I will let you choose the materials for three walking dresses for me. I am in no hurry. And here is partial payment for all the work you have to do for me.” She picked up her reticule, paid Sara, and strode toward the door. Her footman had already opened it for her from his position outside of the shop.

  “Oh, and I will expect you for dinner at four o’clock on Sunday.” Mary walked out with a smile on her face before Sara could accept or refuse the offer.

  Of course, it wasn’t really an offer, but a command.

  Chapter Seven

  Alone in her back room, Sara paced from one side of the small space to the other. Stinky would return to her shop soon. He hadn’t said it would be exactly one week, but if so, that would be tomorrow.

  Maybe she could hit him with something, a piece of wood, or a poker. Maybe she could get a gun. But where could she get one? They probably didn’t give guns to women. Maybe the duke would help her. No, she doubted that. Although he’d seemed intent on protecting her the other day, he hadn’t been back since. She was but a common laborer. Why should he help her? Especially considering what her husband had done to him.

  She wished she could ask the duchess. Mary had been quite adamant that she wished to help her, however, the duchess could hardly have suspected she would need assistance with a situation like this. It wouldn’t be appropriate to go to her, and she didn’t want to take advantage of the older woman’s kindness.

  Suddenly desperate to leave the shop, Sara made her way into the front room, gathered her reticule, and opened the front door with no destination in mind. She had to get out. Scurrying along, she searched the street for the mad man to make sure he wasn’t stalking her. Nothing. After a time, her eye caught the sign for Gunter’s. True, she shouldn’t be outside alone, but she was a married lady, which made it less improper…even if her husband had abandoned her. She’d barely eaten all day, and it was quite warm outside. On a whim, she decided to buy an ice.