St. James folded his arms across his chest in a very marquess-like pose. “Why, my dear. I want you to marry my brother.”
All the air went out of her and her legs crumpled under her as she found a place in the King Louis XIV chair. “Marry your brother,” she breathed. Her heart knocked against her ribcage as she imagined a life with Michael. A life of laughter and love and all the joy her own parents’ union had been bereft of. Her fingers curled reflexively as a hunger stole through at the mere dream of it.
“I’ve seen the two of you,” his brother continued.
“You have?” Her question emerged as a garbled squeak. She tried to remember back to whether there had been any perfectly formal and appropriate meetings between her and Michael and came up blastedly empty.
The marquess grinned wryly and then lowered his voice. “You know of the scandal in my brother’s past.” When she didn’t respond, he carried on. “He has made a life for himself, a life that I’m vastly proud of. Not many ladies can see past the scandal and his lack of title to the man he has become. You have, though. Haven’t you?”
Aldora glanced down at her tightly fisted hands. She studied the thin, green, bulging vein that spoke of the tension radiating throughout her body. Michael’s past hadn’t mattered to her…and yet, it had. It had to for reasons that had nothing to do with her own happiness but her siblings’ security. “You don’t understand.” Her words sounded lame to her own ears.
“I think I do.”
His immediate reply brought her head swiftly up. There was a gentleness in his eyes when he spoke. “I’m aware of your family’s circumstances.”
“Oh.” She closed her eyes, wanting to blot out this humiliation. She and Mother had thought they’d been so skillful, so clever in concealing the truth. And yet, here it was public knowledge to the ton. She wanted to wilt beneath the frayed Aubusson carpet that served as another stark reminder of their financial woes.
“You are hardly to blame for your father’s poor decisions. Just as I’m not to blame for my father’s decision to banish Michael.” His gaze skittered to a point beyond her shoulder to a place he could see only in his mind. “And yet, I know what it is to live with the guilt of actions that had nothing to do with me.” When he returned his eyes to her, they were glacial blue and emotionally detached. “But this is your choice, Lady Aldora. If you reject Michael, you are doing so of your own volition. I imagine that would be very, very difficult to carry with you for the rest of your days.”
The weight of his words, eerily reminiscent to the ones thrown at her by Michael, settled in her heart, affirming the truth she already knew. Aldora touched the gold pendant that hung from her neck. It radiated hot and heavy against her flesh. The words Emilia had uttered to her on the day of her betrothal ball drifted through her memory. “I’m going to marry the man of my dreams, Aldora. And that necklace is going to lead you to the man of yours, too.”
The pendant had done just that. It brought me Michael. Her lower lip trembled. She’d been cold and alone for so very long—until him.
She had been so desperate to make a powerful match that dreams of finding the love Emilia had with the Duke of Renaud had seemed like nothing more than a child’s dream. Only now, with the Marquess of St. James before her, Aldora realized she didn’t want to sacrifice her happiness for her family. She wanted Michael with a selfish, self-serving longing. His brother was correct. If she made the decision to forsake Michael, she would live with an aching, painful regret.
“You are correct, my lord.” Aldora forced her hand back to her lap.
“Of course I am,” he said tugging at his lapels.
She didn’t need the old gypsy woman’s reminder. She knew what was in her heart and, God forgive her, Michael was her fate. She waited for the guilt. Yet, this time, it did not come. Her sisters were beautiful. They were accomplished. They would make matches. Her brother was certainly young enough to weather the scandal when her father’s failings were privy to all of Society. But more importantly, Aldora and her siblings would rise above the sins of their father, because that is what built strength and character.
The marquess cleared his throat. Aldora looked up at him. “I imagine you are concerned with your father’s—”
She nodded curtly, effectively ending his words. She didn’t need him to finish the sentence. The fact he and others knew of her family’s shame raked like hot coals along her skin.
“My brother has enough money—”
“I do not love your brother for his money,” she snapped. She loved him for being direct and not treating her as though she were a simpering miss without a brain in her head.
The marquess angled his head. “Love?”
She loved him for having built a life when Society had cast him out just as she and her siblings would be forced to do. But they were strong. With love, they could weather all. A weight lifted from her chest. Aldora smiled. “I love—” A loud commotion from the corridor, followed by her mother’s high-pitched shrieks, jerked Aldora’s attention to the door.
“Where is she?” a deep baritone thundered from somewhere within the house.
A familiar baritone. Heart racing, Aldora leapt to her feet and raced to the front of the room, just as the door was thrown open. She collided hard against the wall of Michael’s chest, grunting. Her spectacles popped off her nose and skittered across the floor. His image blurred. A watery smile turned her lips. She didn’t need her glasses to know he was there, to sense the emotion that emanated from every fiber of his masculine form. “Michael,” she breathed.
Chapter 11
Michael bent and retrieved Aldora’s spectacles. With an informality that set Lady Adamson off on another wave of caterwauling, he placed them back on her freckled nose. “Aldora,” he said hoarsely.
His attention shifted to the familiar figure that rose from the ridiculously small chintz sofa. The same smoldering rage, jealousy and possessiveness that had fueled Michael’s footsteps and led him to do something as rash as invading Lady Adamson’s home filled him when he spied his brother standing there, his face a blank, flat mask. Emotion hummed through Michael’s being; love, hope, determination, fear—more emotion than he’d allowed himself to feel or know since his exile.
He should have respected Aldora’s desire for a respectable match. But she was his and if he didn’t fight for her, he would be forever filled with a regret that would eventually destroy him.
They spoke in unison.
“I—”
“You can’t marry him.”
Through the thick glass of her spectacles, Aldora’s eyes went wide. “I know.”
She wasn’t the conventional beauty he’d always favored. There was far too much uniqueness in her heart-shaped face. But it was a face that was more precious than any other and he could not live without her.
“She most certainly can,” the countess cried out and then promptly collapsed into a conveniently located frayed chair. She waved a hand in front of her face as though she desperately fought to hold on to consciousness.
Michael stroked the backs of his fingers along Aldora’s satin cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed. “So beautiful,” he murmured. “I don’t want you to marry my brother.”
“I’m not,” Aldora said softly. “I won’t”
“I…” It took a moment for her response to penetrate his single-minded focus. He’d arrived here in a rage, convinced that he would have to battle for her hand. And now, her assurance had thrown him at sea.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I don’t want to marry your brother. Or anyone else.” She shot a quick glance over her shoulder. “My apologies, my lord.”
St. James waved a hand, a bemused look on his face. “No apologies necessary.”
Aldora returned her gaze to Michael. He was staggered by the depth of love pouring from her eyes. “When you left me in the park—”
Her mother screeched. “You were in the park with him?”
Aldora continued over her
interruption. “I realized I want you, Michael. For years, I’ve thought only of my brother and sisters.” Her voice caught. “But I believe, with you by my side, we can do anything. Even save my siblings from Societal ruin.”
“You cannot,” the countess barked. “You cannot stop the gossips. No one will wed your sisters. No one.” How coldhearted her mother was. With her singular goals for Aldora, he appreciated anew the struggle she had waged in herself. What manner of young woman would so courageously face all that she’d borne on her narrow shoulders?
Aldora tipped her chin up. “Then those are men undeserving of Katherine and Anne. I’d not see them wed anyone such as that,” she shot back. With that show of strength and spirit, he fell in love with her all over again.
The older woman shot her eyebrow’s to her hairline.
“You’ll no longer have to worry about your father’s debts,” his brother intoned from across the room. Three pairs of eyes bore into him. Milburn dusted his hands across his already immaculate coat. “I’ve seen to his debt. There is nothing standing between you and Michael’s happiness.”
The countess gasped. For what he would venture was the first time in the garrulous woman’s life, she was left speechless.
Aldora shook her head. “You…I…you cannot,” she breathed.
“I can and I did,” his brother informed her, looking inordinately pleased with himself. He looked to Michael. “Consider it a gift for your upcoming nuptials.”
Michael’s palms moistened. His brother could make the financial difficulties disappear. He could have done that, but neither of them could erase the scandal of his past. “I… I…” he sputtered, searching for words and failing.
Aldora slipped her fingers into his hands and gave a firm squeeze. “I love you,” she whispered. When he finally returned his stare to her, that worry lifted. “With you at my side, I can do anything.”
Emotion filled his throat, making speech difficult. He knew what she spoke of. When Aldora was near, he was filled with a lightness that had been extinguished the day he’d dueled and been banished to Wales. He’d never imagined he’d feel alive and hopeful after those days. He’d never imagined he would smile again or laugh…or find love. “I love you,” he said, his voice rough to his own ears. He tipped her chin up. “Aldora, marry me—”
“If you don’t say yes, you are a daft ninny of a girl!”
This time, the interruption came from the three interlopers at the entrance of the doorway. The girl with tight brown ringlets had a determination in her familiar brown eyes that marked her a sister.
“She’ll marry you,” the other young lady, with honey blonde locks called out.
Aldora choked back a laugh and touched her fingers to Michael’s chin in a like motion. “I do not need anyone to tell me that I want to wed you. I thought I needed a powerful peer, Michael. But what I needed was more than a duke.” She leaned up and her breath fanned his cheek as she whispered, “I needed a knight,” She smiled up at him. “You.”
Epilogue
Anne tugged at Aldora’s hand. “Do tell us again,” she fairly pleaded.
Katherine snorted. “She’s already told us three times,” she reminded, earning a frown from Anne.
“If we are to land the heart of a duke, I want to be sure I understand exactly what we need to do.”
At Anne’s strident tone, Aldora laughed. She shoved her spectacles back on the bridge of her nose. “You don’t need a duke, Anne. My marriage to Michael should be proof that only love is necessary.”
Anne rose in a flurry of ivory ruffled skirts and began to pace. “Oh, love would certainly be welcome, but a duke,” she slammed her fist into the palm of her hand in a Machiavellian way. “Why, a duke is absolutely essential.”
“I just want to avoid marriage to cousin Bertrand,” Katherine mumbled.
What was she on about? Aldora frowned at her suddenly somber sister. Her heart tugged at such practical marital goals for the young girl. Katherine should dream of love for herself, just as she’d dreamed of a grand love for her. “There is no need to marry cousin Bertrand,” Aldora said with quiet insistence.
“Tell that to Mother,” Katherine said and folded her hands primly on her lap. “She is forever saying someone needs to wed him, just in case something happens to Benedict.”
Their dratted mercenary mother. Tamping down her frustration and annoyance, she offered a smile of reassurance. “Nothing is going to happen to Benedict,” Aldora promised.
“Tell that to Mother, as well,” Katherine said on a beleaguered sigh.
“I never believed I would say it,” Anne began, “but I agree with Katherine.” She scrunched her brow and then snapped her fingers together in an unladylike fashion that would have appalled said mother in question. “Of course. We must focus on my need…er…our need for a duke.”
From her spot at the window seat, Aldora studied the eldest of the twin sisters. She chewed her lower lip. She’d never taken Anne for a title-grasping young lady. Instead, she appreciated Anne for her spirit and liveliness. With her beauty, the girl would be the toast of the ton when she made her Come Out. No, neither Anne nor Katherine would have to make a desperate match, but rather a match of their own choosing.
“Well, then,” Anne stopped mid-pace. “Where is the pendant?”
“The pendant?” Aldora repeated.
She pointed her eyes to the ceiling. “Yes, the necklace, silly. One must wear the heart in order to…” Her words trailed off. “You don’t have it,” Anne breathed.
“Oh, dear. Now comes Anne’s theatrics,” Katherine muttered to herself.
Usually one to turn a frown on her younger sister, Anne ignored Katherine. “Emilia?” her younger sister demanded.
Aldora shook her head.
“Constance?” her sister, begged with increasing earnestness in her queries.
At Aldora’s negation, Anne surged forward. “Meredith?” she pleaded.
“Meredith and Rowena had no wish to wear it.” They’d always disavowed wearing a pendant that might bring them the heart of a duke.
A tortured moan spilled from Anne’s lips and she dropped her head into her hands. Katherine jumped out of her seat and claimed the spot beside her. “Come, come. It isn’t as bad as all that. No sense worrying over that which can’t be controlled.” That was Katherine. The clear-headed, logical sibling. Sometimes, Aldora worried about her calm practicality. She needed just a bit more of Anne’s romantic spirit.
“Or found,” Anne’s voice emerged muffled through her fingers. “What did you and your silly friends do with it?” she moaned. “You’ve gone and lost it. I shall never have a duke.”
“You don’t need a duke,” Aldora felt inclined to point out.
Anne yanked her head up and favored her with a glare. “I most certainly do. A nice, wealthy, pleasant-looking one.” She paused. “Especially wealthy.
Katherine tugged at one of Anne’s golden curls. “Well, I for one do not need a duke. I need a cheerful, always-smiling gentleman who will treat me with affection and—”
Anne snorted and swatted at her hand. “That is what dogs are for.”
Katherine bristled. “I’d have love, too,” she added a touch of defensiveness in her response. “I’m merely pointing out that I’d—”
“It matters not,” Anne cut in. “Aldora still owes us an explanation.”
Aldora’s lips twitched with Anne’s flourish for the dramatics. Her sisters couldn’t be more different in both appearance and temperament. “The necklace has been returned to the gypsy who first gifted it to—”
“Nooooo,” Anne bemoaned. She jabbed a finger in her direction. “You must find it. Now.”
Katherine glanced toward the window. “Uh, it is nearly nightfall.”
“Not now, silly. I mean, now as in, well, tomorrow. Or soon. But you mustn’t wait, Aldora. We must have dukes. Both of us,” she said with a glance in her twin’s direction.
The sisters shared a look. Al
dora felt a moment of separateness from the clear, apparent bond the two had always seemed to share—despite the many differences between them. She stood and crossed over to her younger sisters. She claimed one of each of their hands and gave a faint squeeze. “The locket is gone, girls. Emilia promised to return it to the gypsy—”
“Bunică?”
She nodded. “Yes, that’s correct. Bunică. If you are meant to wear it, the pendant will find its way to you.” That reminder was met with another loud moan from Anne.
“I promise,” she vowed, squeezing her sister’s hand. “When the time comes that you do find the Heart of a Duke, it will be ever so worth the wait.”
“Truly?” Anne implored.
Aldora touched a hand to her gently rounding belly. She thought of her husband, Michael, who’d shown her more joy this past year than all other years of her life combined. “It certainly will, Anne. It certainly will.”
The End
For Love of the Duke
By
Christi Caldwell
Dedication
Tremendous thanks to my husband who allowed me to disappear for nearly three straight weeks all to tell this story.
To Jill. Thank you for catching everything that needed catching in this story! You have a brilliant set of eyes!
And to my readers. Thank you, even as thank you seems so very inadequate.
Acknowledgements
To Ms. Julia Quinn.
Thank you for an advance copy all those years ago that got me through at least one long day of bedrest. And thank you for the support you’ve shown to me as a writer.
Part I
Winter 1814
“Suffering is permanent, obscure, and dark.
And has the nature of infinity.”
A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle Page 11