Reforming the Duke

by Keira Montclair

  “Fortunately for you, I see no similarities between your ex-wife and Lady Downey.”

  Philip grunted. “She is nothing like Caroline,” he agreed, “or I would not go near her.”

  “Ah, the truth finally. Then why are you treating her as you did Caroline? Perhaps Lady Downey would prefer to keep her business running. She is very good at it, you know. I also think she might prefer to be able to hold company with your family and with Phoebe. She couldn’t do that as your mistress.”

  “I know that, but she doesn’t need to stay in touch with my family. As for Phoebe, you wouldn’t stop your wife from seeing Lady Downey. I know you better than to think that.”

  “No, I would not, but I suspect Lady Downey would stay away from my wife. She knows how the ton is, and I suspect she would stay within the guidelines of acceptable behavior.”

  Philip stared at his friend. “Then there is no solution.”

  “I think there is one, but you are neglecting to mention it.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve learned the lady is a widow. Why not marry her?” Ardleigh leaned over the table as if relating a secret. “You will not regret it.”

  “You cannot be serious. I am a duke. My wife must have noble blood. She is to be the mother of the next duke.”

  “It would seem to me you are inventing reasons to keep you two apart. No one knows much about Lady Downey’s family. Perhaps she does have noble blood. Regardless, she has already married into the ton. She’s just down on her luck because her first husband was a beast.”

  “And you think my mother would tolerate such a thing?” Philip ground out. Even as he said it, he recalled how much his mother seemed to favor the lady. How protective she always seemed of her.

  “I think your mother wants to see you happy, and she’s much wiser and more forgiving than you give her credit for. She will welcome anyone you love into her home. After all, she accepted Caroline, and she knew from the start that it wasn’t going to last.”

  “Who said anything about love?” Philip burst to his feet, no longer able to sit still. “I am not in love with Lady Downey,” he added, looking out the window. “I will never allow that to happen to me again.”

  Ardleigh clucked his tongue. “So sad what Caroline has done to you. I thought by now you would be beyond her, but you’re as sour as ever. You think you can always control everything, Brentwood. Well, you can’t always control your heart.”

  That was where Ardleigh was wrong. Philip was quite sure he could, although he had not given up on Sara just yet.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sara sorted her receipts carefully at the front counter. A few days had passed since she had last seen Philip, yet he was always lurking somewhere in her mind. She forced herself to focus on the task at hand, however, and a triumphant smile surfaced on her face as she finished.

  She had one customer who was expected to pick up several gowns today, and then she should have more than enough money for Stinky. She hoped to have enough money left over to buy food for the week. She took a few coins and hid them in a separate place for safekeeping.

  She had returned to her worktable in the back when the front door slammed, sending her vaulting out of her seat. It was too early for Stinky, but he’d already come by once, hadn’t he? She rubbed the palm of her good hand down her dress to wipe the dampness away. Her heart sped in her chest as she proceeded to the front. She held her breath and stepped around the corner, grabbing a pair of scissors for protection.

  A liveried footman stood just inside the door with his arm outstretched. “A package for you, madam. Lady Ardleigh instructed me to wait until you open the package. If they’re not quite right, you may return them.”

  Sara’s curiosity piqued. What would Phoebe have sent her? She accepted the package with a smile and slid behind the front counter to open it. Her heart pounded in anticipation. How long had it been since she had received a surprise gift such as this?

  Untying the ribbon, she carefully pulled the wrapping back until her eyes fell on the assortment of blue and ivory beads inside the fabric pouch. Sara couldn’t stop herself from uttering a small moan of appreciation. “Oh, they’re so beautiful.”

  She fingered each bead individually as she peered at them.

  “I think they just might be perfect.”

  She knew Phoebe’s messenger was not interested, but she announced her satisfaction anyway. Running into the back room, she retrieved her mother’s bag, slammed the drawer, and rushed back to the front room to determine if the beads matched.

  Her entire body bursting with joy at the prospect, Sara placed the edge of her mother’s bag next to Phoebe’s package.

  “Oh, no! The shape and coloring are a perfect match, but they are too small. If only they were a touch larger.” Sara rolled the pale beads between her fingers with a sigh.

  Addressing the messenger, she said, “Sir, if you’ll please wait one more moment, I will write my response to Lady Ardleigh.”

  What a blessing it was to have one good friend in her life. She quickly penned her note, thanking Phoebe for her kindness and asking her to keep an eye out for any beads that were the same color and style but a little larger. She was about to hand it off to the messenger when the front door flew open again. Startled at the sound of the door banging open, Sara dropped the letter and placed a hand on the package of beads.

  Miranda Montrose barreled through the entranceway. Coming to a stop directly in front of Sara, she glared at her and locked her hands on her hips.

  Fire flew from her eyes as she thrust her face at Sara’s. “So, you little trollop, you thought you could just walk into the ballroom and steal my man, did you?” Miranda’s chest heaved as she spoke.

  “Lady Montrose,” she said, staring into the woman’s wild eyes, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, isn’t that convenient, Sara. Steal my man and act like an innocent. How dare you! You will not win. Brentwood loves me. You are to stay away from him. I knew you were nothing but a whore. Is that what you really sell in this shop?” Her arm waved in a semicircle around her. “Of course, you pretend to fool everyone by claiming to create these hideous gowns. Oh, and you should know the gown you wore the other night was just atrocious.” Miranda made her way around the inside wall of the front room of Sara’s shop, fingering the gowns she had made that were awaiting pickup and customer approval.

  With a giggle, she sneered at Sara. “This is not what you really sell, though, is it? It’s all just a cover? You actually sell yourself.”

  Gasping at Miranda’s implication, she left the counter and took a step toward the woman.

  Miranda tipped her head back and ran her eyes down the length of Sara. “Not that you would find many buyers for your boyish figure, but some men do like to try a wide variety. Since the duke and I were having a little disagreement, he must have wanted to find a woman as unlike me as possible.

  Miranda laughed as she tossed her head, her hand going up to the back of her hair where a few upswept strands had fallen out. “He was looking for a cheap little strumpet. And so he found you for one night.”

  Sara forced her mind out of its daze. Do something. The woman was obviously out of her mind, however, and she did not wish to set her off.

  “Please leave, Lady Montrose. I have no designs on the duke. I promise you that you’ll not see us together again. I had a terrible fright that evening, and he was consoling me. That was all.” Sara pulled her hair out of her eyes as she searched the room for the scissors she’d set down nearby. The footman seemed completely unmoved by the exchange. He simply stood there, awaiting her message. Couldn’t he help her a bit? That would be the honorable thing to do.

  “I know he’ll never be with you again, because I will kill you if you’re seen with him again. Do you understand me? I want to be clear on what will happen if you entertain the notion of spending time with him again.” Miranda grasped a yellow day gown in her hand, rolling the fabric b
etween her fingers.

  “Why this is quite ugly, Sara. Did you design this?” As soon as the words left her mouth, Miranda pulled a small knife from her reticule and sliced it down the front of the gown.

  Sara gasped in shock and horror. “What are you doing, Lady Montrose?”

  “Why, Sara, it’s my job to make sure no one decent wears any of these monstrosities.”

  She wished to stop Miranda, but the woman’s twisted grin frightened her. Instead, she watched in horror as Miranda grabbed the next gown, tore one sleeve off, and ripped a hole in the middle of the bodice.

  Sara fought for control. “Lady Montrose, please. I beg you to stop!” She immediately thought of Stinky and how she needed the income from the gowns to pay him.

  Miranda didn’t stop, however. She continued on her path of destruction, smirking as she did so.

  “Stop? Why should I stop when you clung to my man at the Ardleigh ball the other night? I told you before to stay away from him, and you did not listen.” She grabbed a fistful of material from a third gown.

  The messenger finally awakened from his stupor. “Please, madam. What you’re doing isn’t right.”

  Miranda pointed the knife at his throat. “This is none of your concern, so do not interrupt.”

  Sara’s skin turned cold, her mind flooded with visions of Stinky. “Please, Lady Montrose. I’m not interested in the Duke of Brentwood,” she repeated, her tone adamant.

  “Why, I think you looked very interested the other night. You couldn’t have gotten any closer to him had you tried. I watched you, you see. I saw the sweet, innocent smiles you gave him to entice him to your bed. Are you going to tell me he did not come to your bed that night? Because I’m sure he did. He was supposed to come to me, but he went to you instead.” She grabbed the skirt of another gown and shredded it. “It’s all your fault. You are a trollop. You must have hypnotized him. Or did you put something into his drink?” Miranda turned back to Sara with a condescending smirk. “Truly, what could he possibly want with you?”

  Sara was frantic. Each ruined gown brought her closer to another altercation with Stinky. Her voice broke as she begged Miranda, “Please, Lady Montrose! I’ll stay away from him. That was the only time we danced. I’m not interested in him.”

  She rushed toward Miranda, hoping to grab the knife out of her hands, but when she reached for her, Lady Montrose swung out with her knife and caught the edge of Sara’s arm. Blood spurted across the surface of the gown Miranda held and dripped onto the floor.

  Miranda’s eyes brightened. “You see, Lady Downey, what terrible taste you have? Why that red color is horrid on this lavender gown. Here, let me cut out that stain for you.” She cut out a portion of the dress and threw it on the counter, then tossed her head back and laughed.

  The door banged open again and another messenger entered. “Heavens, what are you doing with that weapon, madam?”

  The first man, who’d watched the scene unfold with mounting horror, shooed him away. “Leave her be, she has gone mad.” He reached for the door. “Let’s get help. I’ll look for the horse patrol.”

  “Stop right where you are!” Miranda’s large bosom heaved as she swept her gaze across both men. The knife was still clutched in her hand. “Never mind any of this.”

  She turned to Sara. “Did you get my message, Lady Downey? Next time, I’ll be cutting more than the gowns.” With that, she tucked the bloody knife into her reticule and calmly strode out the door.

  As soon as she left, the second messenger stepped forward. “Miss, are you all right? Can I fetch the doctor for you, or perhaps the authorities? I shall search for the magistrate, if you wish.”

  “No!” she said at once. “Thank you, sir, but there’s no need. I’m a little out of sorts. She left quite a mess.” She fussed over the items sent astray.

  The Ardleigh’s messenger said, “I’ll return in a moment.” He murmured something to the second messenger—the only word she made out was “help”—and ducked out of the door.

  “Well, if you care to see it, Lady Downey, I have a package from the duke for you,” the second man said. “He asked me to await a written response.”

  She shook her head as she stared at the outstretched hand holding a small package. She glanced up at the messenger, blinking back tears. Too much had happened in too short a time. Just like that, her life was a mess again. Half of the gowns she’d prepared for her client were destroyed. She wouldn’t be able to pay Stinky after all.

  Confusion washed through her mind. “What?”

  “For you, my lady, the duke sent it for you.”

  Another package? She stepped behind the counter again, and brushed Phoebe’s package and her return note off to the side. As she opened the package from Philip, she could feel the messenger’s eyes on her.

  When she removed the cover, her pulse stopped. Inside was a beautiful necklace made of large rubies and diamonds. The light danced off the gems as she removed it from the package. It was worth a fortune.

  She looked up at the messenger. “I am sorry, but I cannot accept this.”

  “The duke says you must, Lady Downey. He told me I was not to bring it back.”

  The first messenger returned to the shop and let himself in. His eyes widened when he caught sight of the necklace. “Forgive me, madam, for interfering, but it would pay for all those damaged gowns there on the wall.” The man nodded his head toward the ruined gowns. “The magistrate is on his way.”

  If only he’d interfered earlier and saved her from this whole situation. All the same, he was right. This one piece of jewelry could put an end to all her troubles. She could take it to the jewelers for cash and give whatever she needed to Stinky. Or she could simply give it to him. He would be happy to take such a valuable item. It was certainly worth more than what her husband owed his debtors.

  Her head ached. She reached up and rubbed a spot on her scalp, closing her eyes for a moment as she considered her quandary. Oh, what to do! This was too much to handle.

  Except she already knew she couldn’t accept the necklace. If she did, she’d be no better than Miranda Montrose. She would be a trollop, accepting payment for services provided.

  A whore. This would make her a whore.

  No, she couldn’t do it.

  She returned the necklace to the package. Grabbing the pen, she retrieved another note card and started writing. She told Philip what she thought of his gift and why she could not accept it, keeping her tone civil in case the messenger read it. As she wrote, she noticed her arm had begun to bleed again. She slipped in the back to retrieve a cloth to hold on her wound. When she returned, she noticed Phoebe’s messenger still standing there.

  “Oh, sir, I am sorry to keep you waiting.” She ran to the counter, grabbed the note and handed it to him. “Thank you. Please inform Lady Ardleigh that I will be in touch.”

  Sara grabbed her head after he left as she felt a wave of dizziness come over her.

  “Here, miss, sit on this stool.” Philip’s man said, rushing forward to help her. “Are you sure I cannot reach someone for you? You don’t look so good right now.”

  Sara held her head until the dizziness subsided.

  “No, I am fine, sir. Thank you kindly for your assistance. I have finished penning the note. Please take the package and the note back to the duke for me.”

  “Are you quite certain?” The messenger was concerned, but she could tell he was also nervous about the position she’d put him in. The duke wouldn’t take kindly to her response, but there was nothing she could do about that.

  She dismissed the man with a wave and a smile. He bolted out the door with the package and the note, and as soon as he was gone, Sara collapsed on the floor and sobbed.

  ***

  Philip paced in his room. What was taking his footman so long, anyway?

  Part of him feared Sara would not react to the necklace as he hoped. She’d rejected his offer of financial help, after all, and she was not like other
women. And yet, every woman enjoyed jewels, especially a piece as fine as the one he’d sent.

  Perhaps it would be enough.

  Perhaps she would be in his bed tonight.

  Lady Downey had been on his mind all week. He wanted to taste her again, run his tongue down the soft skin of her neck.

  Of course, Ardleigh’s suggestion was ridiculous. He was a duke; he couldn’t marry a dressmaker.

  Even so, he couldn’t deny he liked the thought of having such an intelligent woman on his arm. Looking into her warm green eyes across the breakfast table. Savoring her each and every night. His cock was rock hard again at the thought. Damn! It shouldn’t be like this. He didn’t even glance at other women now. She had ruined him.

  It only made matters worse that his mother kept mentioning her. Why did she torment him so? She had to know nothing could ever come of their relationship.

  Or did she?

  Hellfire, where was his valet? He opened the door to his chamber and bellowed down the hallway, “Charles? Where are you? Let’s get this done!”

  Charles appeared out of nowhere. “Yes, Your Grace, I’m coming. I was starching your neck cloth.”

  “Damnation, Charles, I need a shave. I expect to have company tonight. Let’s get on with it.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Charles hurried Philip into a chair and wrapped a warm towel around his face.

  He continued to mumble through the towel. “I expect Eli to return any minute. When he does, I need to be ready to go out immediately.” Then, realizing how out of sorts he sounded, he hastened to say, “Forgive me, Charles. I appear to be on edge today for some reason.”

  His valet answered with a stiff, “Quite.”

  Philip heard the door close downstairs. He threw the towel off his face and yelled, “Eli?”

  No one answered, which only made him more anxious. He raced down the stairs in search of his messenger.

  His mother came out of the sunroom. “Philip, what is the problem? Why are you yelling and running about?”