A Wicked Duke's Prize: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Henrietta Harding

  Resentment filled Owen’s stomach, but he kept his lips pressed shut.

  “What I mean to say is this. I will give your family the money you require to stay afloat, if you want it. This way, you won’t have to marry Rebecca. You won’t have to do anything you don’t want to, as a result of your father’s mistakes.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You know that I would never accept this,” Owen retorted.

  Theo chuckled again, almost maddeningly this time. “I know. And in fact, it’s why I’m only just offering it now. You’re entirely too proud for your own good, Owen Crauford. I’ve known you a long time, and you’ve hardly changed at all.”

  “I don’t want to turn into your charity case. I want to be your friend, Theo. I don’t want to look into your eyes and see that reflected back. This idea that I’m lesser. That I’m nothing.”

  “Well first of all, you know that I already see you this way,” Theo said.

  “You’re really an imbecile, aren’t you?”

  “Here I am. Offering you my fortune, my wealth, my hospitality – my good scotch. And you call me an imbecile!” Theo said, his grin widening.

  Owen sighed and sucked down the last of his drink. Somehow, it seemed his headache had only grown worse.

  “Just promise me that you’ll consider this as a real option, Owen,” Theo said. “I have the money. And it would get you out of this wretched predicament. Maybe it would allow you to think about your life with more clarity, less rage. I don’t know. I can’t possibly know. I’ve always had money and always will.”

  Owen rolled his eyes again, this time so that Theo could fully see. Then, he lurched over, grabbed the bottle of scotch, and refilled his with a double portion.

  “A conversation change,” Theo touted. “What about this. You tell me what you and Miss Rebecca Frampton were up to in the garden. You took her to the secret one, didn’t you? I thought about taking one of the girls there. I just grew too drunk, too quickly. Couldn’t articulate which of them I wanted to bring.”

  “What secret garden?” Owen asked. But he cut Theo such a ridiculous smile, that Theo burst into volatile laughter.

  “I know you’ll never tell me. But I know what you did. I can see it written all over your face! Owen Crauford. I’ve never been more proud of you than I am right now.”

  “I’ve said nothing. I did nothing,” Owen said.

  “Of course. No one’s reputation is soiled. Everyone we’ve spoken of today is perfectly stellar, respectable,” Theo said. He whistled slightly, then refilled his own glass of scotch. “You bastard. That secret garden was meant for me.”

  “You really have to pick which of these girls you want to date, Theo,” Owen said.

  “Perhaps none of them,” Theo said. “Or all of them. Why does a man have to choose in this life? It’s far too long for such a decision.”

  ***

  When Owen returned home later that afternoon, he was surprised to see the last of the staff members packing their things. Most notably James the butler, who’d been with the Craufords since Neil was a twenty-something, stood in the foyer with a suitcase in his hand. He wore travel clothes, and his cheeks were hollowed-out, his eyes forlorn. Owen halted in the doorway and peered at him, feeling his familiar smile draw low, tweak toward his chin. One of the maids bumbled past James, weeping. She tore her cap from her head and then tossed herself past Owen, down the front steps, and back towards the stables.

  “What on earth,” Owen said. His eyes burned towards James, and his heart plunged into his belly. “It’s finally happened, hasn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so, my lord,” James said. He kept his chin high, his voice flat and sure. “Your father has dismissed the last of us. It’s a regretful thing. As you know, this mansion has been my home since before you were born.”

  Owen’s thoughts buzzed. Some of his earliest memories involved James. He remembered hobbling about, on unsteady toddler legs, and glancing up to find James’ arms wide, accepting. It had been a place to run to, a place to collapse.

  “It’s a wretched thing,” Owen said, his voice gritty and deep. “You can’t imagine how dreadfully sorry I am. I only wish…” He stuttered for a moment, his shoulders falling. “You know I’m on the brink of digging us out of this mess. It’s my everyday mission. If I must, I will marry Rebecca Frampton –”

  “I know it’s your most painful task,” James said. “And your father knows it, too.”

  “I’ll find you when we have the wealth back,” Owen blurted. “You won’t be out of work for long.”

  “I daresay I don’t have my hopes up,” James said. “Your father is quite ill. I don’t envision that he’ll keep any sort of wealth for long.”

  “Nonsense. If I fight for our status back, I won’t allow him to squander it. James, I will have complete control. And you will have your job back once more.”

  James brought his chin toward his chest, for the first time showing a weighted sadness. His eyes glittered. “You can’t imagine how much I’ve enjoyed my life here, Owen. It’s been a remarkable era. Nothing else will top it.”

  Owen yearned to bicker with him, to declare that he’d be back at the estate in no time at all. But the foyer seemed void of air. He took another step towards the butler, which seemed to propel James forward, towards the door. He stopped short, his hand on the doorpost, and blinked out at the mighty green oak outside, which cast its bright leaves to-and-fro in the summer wind.

  “Where will you go?” Owen asked.

  “I’ve asked a cousin in London if I can stay with him until I find something else,” James said softly. “It may be difficult for a man of my age to find anything. Your father has written me a stellar letter of recommendation, but I imagine the greying hair and the wrinkled face will do nothing for me. My time is much shorter than it once was. The world sees precisely how long I have.”

  James took a large step out. A mighty wind rushed up and nearly collected the hat from his head. He corrected it swiftly, then turned back slightly to bow. “I hope I see you again soon, Owen. Until then, I pray that you do precisely what you want, regardless. Your father has done you a tremendous disservice. I say that with all the love in my heart for both of you. I hope you find the space to forgive him. And I pray that he finds a way to heal.”

  Moments later, James disappeared. Owen watched from the doorway as he re-emerged on the other side of the shrubs. He and three of the last remaining maids boarded a carriage and clanked the doors closed. The horses carted them down the long drive and then out on the open road. Owen remained in the wind, listening as the horse hooves clopped into the distance.

  Back inside, he slammed the door shut and found that the sound echoed strangely, terribly, throughout the house. He felt himself inside an empty tomb. His father appeared in the hallway and marched from his study, his eyebrows collected sharply over his eyes.

  “Father, I –” Owen began.

  But Neil burned past him and crashed into the parlour, where he lifted an old vase from the top of the fireplace and turned it about, inspecting it.

  “I’ve just said goodbye to James,” Owen said.

  “Hmm,” Neil replied, seemingly disinterested.

  “He seemed wretched, Father. I can’t believe you couldn’t hold onto him a little longer. He’s an old man. His entire life has been here.”

  “I’m quite old myself, son,” Neil continued. He returned the vase to the top of the fireplace mantel and turned toward the fainting couch and scratched the fabric. He seemed entirely pre-occupied, his mind whirring.

  “What on earth are you doing, Father?” Owen asked.

  “We’ve come to the end of the line, son,” Neil replied. “The last of our money is dwindling. We must make do with what we can. That is, until your marriage with Rebecca Frampton goes through. I imagine that I can fetch a pretty price for many of the items in this room.”

  “Many of those belonged to Mother’s family,” Owen said. “I imagine she’ll be horrified i
f she found you’d rid the house of her things.”

  “Your mother’s family’s things are now my family’s things. That’s how marriage works,” Neil said. He arched his brow, seemingly enraged, then crossed his arms over his chest. “And I imagine that your mother will be much more upset if there isn’t food on the table for much of the summer. She can do without a vase or two.”

  “Have you spoken with her about it at all?” Owen demanded.

  “Of course not. I told you before. She’ll hardly speak with me,” Neil spat. “She sits in her bedroom, forlornly gazing out the window, as though some sort of knight in shining armour will come to take her away from me. She regrets the very day she gave herself over to me, to the Crauford line. But there’s nothing I can do but move us forward.”

  Neil bustled back towards the side of the room to inspect the curtains. Owen stepped back, his heart racing. Neil muttered to himself, something about having an auctioneer come to analyse his various possessions for ultimate sale.

  Owen ripped up the steps to his bedroom, smashed the door closed behind. He paced for a long while, his hands behind his back. It seemed unreasonable for him to request the funds from Theo, although Theo had so recently offered. But he suddenly felt as though he stood in the centre of a burning building, unable to leap for his own safety.

  ***

  It took only a matter of days before many of the beautiful and glamorous items from Owen’s youth were removed from the house. Owen’s mother didn’t leave her bedroom, not once, throughout, and Owen watched in stunned silence as his father took on a matter-of-fact attitude throughout the collection.

  Only once did Owen utter words to illustrate his own rage, to the effect of, “If only you’d been so conscious of your funds as you sat at the gambling table!” But Neil seemed far away, as though any verbal attack Owen spewed held no weight. He hardly shrugged a shoulder before he spun back to speak with the auctioneer and the antique seller, who’d begun to pick off what they wanted most.

  Many of the horses were sold as well. Owen and Neil had always been long-time lovers of the great beasts in their stables, their glowing coats and their enormous eyes that seemed to reflect wisdom. Only a few horses remained. Neil explained that it was up to Owen now to man the stables, as he’d unfortunately had to let go of the last of their stable boys. Thusly, Owen found himself performing gruelling, back-breaking tasks, such as cleaning out the hay and scrubbing the horse’s backs and long, strange teeth.

  He spent nearly two hours on four horses, every single day, and then found himself strange and stinking and exhausted afterwards. Frequently, he rode into the village and bought a cheap loaf of bread and then raced across the moors, to whatever overlook he could find, to eat hungrily and think. Unfortunately, his thoughts seemed to trace the same emotions of anger and fear.

  Rebecca Frampton, of course, leaked into the back arenas of his mind frequently. A week after the ball, Owen itched to speak with her, but had felt overwhelmed with the events of the previous days and hadn’t known what sort of effect he might have on a conversation with her. Ordinarily, their conversations felt like sword-play, a battle of will, but he felt no bounce to his language, no sizzle to his thoughts.

  He remembered what his father had urged him to do, for his own sake. Fall in love with her. He felt eternally resistant to anyone declaring what he should do. Yet his heart ached for the kind of love he knew he could have with Rebecca. How he yearned to feel her here against him again, to inhale the soft floral of her perfume, to feel the pillow of her lips against his and her breasts, the nipples hard like beads between his fingers.

  He poured his face into his hands, no longer hungry. The horse beside him neighed and kicked his head back, his mane flipping in the mind. It was a glorious summer’s day, yet Owen’s mood turned continually dark. He was envious of so many others, of Theo, able to tear through the world without a care, of Tabitha, seemingly able to marry whoever her parents declared her to and find her own unique sort of happiness, even a child. He felt faced with a horrendous existence, a life of scrabbling up from the depths to which his father had dragged him.

  He would never find solace from his rage. He would never forgive his father. He felt sure of it.

  Chapter 20

  Rebecca arrived at Tabitha’s fresh-faced, her heart bursting out of her chest. When she rapped at the door, Anthony tore it open, his own face grisly and strangely grey. He pressed his finger to his lips, his eyes hollowed out, and whispered, “She’s been horribly ill today.”

  Rebecca glanced down at the tart she’d prepared for them, raspberry with crumbled bits of sugar and dough over the top. She’d imagined a glossy afternoon of laughter in the garden, but now felt it switch to one of soft coos and whispered words.

  “Where is she?” Rebecca asked.

  “Upstairs,” Anthony returned. “She won’t allow me near her.”

  “Of course. Aren’t you the one who’s done this to her?” Rebecca said. She shoved the tart toward his chest, forcing him to accept it, and then shot up the stairs, gripping the bannister with a stiff hand. When she reached Tabitha’s bedroom, she found it empty, the bed made improperly, the comforter pulled too high over the pillows.

  The sound of retching and coughing reached her ears. Rebecca rushed back down the hallway to find Tabitha in the guest bedroom, hovering over a basin, her shoulders cast forward. She wore a torn-up, grey house dress, and her hair told a story of wild curls and knots, cascading down her back. Rebecca didn’t pause and fell to the floor beside her friend, placing a hand on her upper shoulders. At first Tabitha grew stiff, resistant. She turned swiftly to peer up, her eyes hollowed out.

  “It’s you,” she whispered. Her eyes were glossy with tears, tinged with red.

  “Of course it’s me,” Rebecca replied, her voice soft, like that of a mother’s. “I told you I would stop by this afternoon, remember?”

  Tabitha fell back, her hands stretched out across her still-flat belly. “Frankly, Rebecca, I can hardly remember the date or the time at any given moment. The morning sickness stretches into the early afternoon and by the end of it, I’m exhausted. Anthony’s no help whatsoever. Always hovering about, asking me what else I need. I tell him just space. Just time alone. But this isn’t the answer he wishes for.”

  “He’s in quite a state downstairs,” Rebecca said. A sly smile drew itself between her cheeks. “Terribly worried about you.”

  “Rather, I think he’s worried about his own safety. He knows I might rip his head off his neck,” Tabitha said. She delivered her first light laugh and then tugged herself back to lean against the bed, her legs stretched out in front of her. Slowly, it seemed her colour returned, turning over the grey for pinks. “Perhaps it’s over for the day. It always comes and goes like a storm. Suddenly, I’m clear and light, able to do anything, whatever I please.”

  “Perhaps I’m the antidote,” Rebecca replied, laughing.

  “Don’t let it go to your head. Although it is terribly good to see you,” Tabitha said. “My goodness, it’s been ages.”

  “I came the day after the ball, don’t you remember?”

  “Of course. The tale of your time in the garden with Owen… You must have seen him since?”

  Rebecca’s head grew clouded. “No. I haven’t. I haven’t received a single letter, haven’t heard a word. Even our fathers don’t seem to be speaking. I cannot wrap my mind around it. After such a remarkable evening together, a time that seemed to shift everything between us, he seems able to switch back, become the cold-hearted individual from that very first day.”

  Tabitha cast her eyes towards the floor. “Perhaps he’s just as confused as you are. Neither of you expected to fall out of this with any sort of affection. And he’s just as stubborn as you are.”

  Rebecca considered this. She clicked her tongue and said, “I’m terribly angry at myself, Tabitha. I told myself I wouldn’t fall for this man. That I would beat him at my own game. Yet I find myself dreaming
about him. I lie in my bed and I stare at the ceiling and I imagine this alternate life in which we fall madly in love and marry and have heaps of children.”