Lady Hope and the Duke of Darkness: The Baxendale Sisters Book 3 Page 11

  The notion of a business arrangement struck a cold shaft in Hope’s chest. Becoming the property of her husband, forced to obey him in all things, made her feel very vulnerable. And the more she thought about it, the more frustrated and angry it made her.

  The carriage was sent into Tunbridge Wells to collect Sophie. Daniel would be angry when he learnt that she traveled by stage. As Hope stood with the family to receive her at Highland Manor, she wondered why Sophie hadn’t used the duke’s carriage. She seemed determined to remain independent. Such freedom was something Hope had never experienced, but of course, Sophie was used to living that way. Hope felt a little envious of her.

  Sophie may have been careless of her safety, traveling without even a maid, but her clothes were in the first stare of fashion. She had an eye for what suited her. The hat brought out the deep brown of her eyes.

  “How lovely it is here.” Sophie spun around to take in the showy spring gardens. “I can’t imagine you ever wanting to leave this heavenly place.”

  “Some don’t wish it,” Hope’s father said, drawing a stern gaze from her mother.

  Entering the parlor, Sophie fell to her knees with a cry of delight to pat Wolf and stroke the cat. “I do miss the animals on the farm.”

  Mercy grinned, but Mama raised her eyebrows and exchanged a glance with Hope.

  Sophie made a firm friend of Charity after she admired her paintings, however, declaring the one of the bluebells in the wood to be her favorite.

  Her mother would be more difficult to win over. Sophie was unconventional, careless of both appearances and rank. It was understandable, of course, given her upbringing, and Hope rather liked her for her unaffected, natural behavior. But of course, her parents did not.

  After tea, she and Sophie walked to the river and sat in the shade of a willow, the quiet broken by birdsong and the rushing water. Hope broached the subject of Daniel’s trip to France.

  “He has gone on some business for the government,” Sophie replied.

  She wanted to ask how long he would be gone, but resisted. A pain squeezed Hope’s heart at the distance that lay between them.

  Sophie twirled a twig in her hands. “Daniel expressed his disappointment at having missed you the night of the king’s soirée.”

  Did he? Hope leaned forward to clasp her knees. “The evening was quite ruined when Pamela spilt a drink on my dress.”

  “Do you think she did it on purpose?”

  “It’s possible. She’s determined to marry Winslow.”

  “Then her plan has failed. Amy said Lady Pamela was sent home in disgrace.”

  “Oh, poor Pamela.”

  Sophie stared at her. “How can you feel sorry for the wretched girl?”

  “I suppose it’s because she’d under a great strain. She’s so anxious to please her father.” As am I.

  Hope ruthlessly dissected a willow frond, scattered the leaves and dusted her hands. “Was there a particular reason your half-brother wished to see me?”

  Sophie shook her head and smiled. “He keeps close counsel in matters of the heart.”

  “Matters of the heart?” Hope repeated in a faint voice.

  Sophie became annoyingly mysterious. “I can’t speak for him.”

  Hope stared at her, confused, her heart beating hard.

  “Daniel is a kind, decent man. Too much so, in my opinion.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “One must put one’s own needs first sometimes, Hope. Life is so short.”

  “Yes, you’re right of course.” She must fight for what she wanted as her sisters had done before her. Hope stiffened at the challenge.

  Charity chose that moment to call from the top of the path. With a moan of annoyance Hope rose to return to the house.

  A grand coach stood in the drive with four matching chestnut horses, their heads adorned with white plumes. The crest on the glossy deep-blue door panel gave clue to the owner.

  “It’s the Duke of Winslow,” Hope said in a faint voice.

  ****

  There was no sign of the rider who’d followed him yesterday. Daniel trusted he’d been hurt badly enough to lose interest. He leaned back as the carriage trundled through the Loire valley on the way to Château Ténèbres. He’d done what he came for. He’d delivered his message to de Villèle, although what the prime minister decided to do with it lay now in the lap of the gods.

  His friend’s parting remark ensured Daniel’s thoughts remained fixed on Hope. Vivid details gathered through the previous months, appeared in his mind’s eye, fresh enough to plague him and make him restless. The sweet curve of her lovely mouth when she smiled, the endearing way she remained determinedly fixed in her opinions, and how charming she was when she recanted, as if she’d said too much, while her astonishingly blue eyes searched his to uncover a truth. Dammit, he’d wanted to laugh with her, to take her in his arms, to make love to her. The carriage entered the gates of his estate. He opened the window to view the changes with great interest as the carriage trundled through the park.

  The house came into view. Above the entry, the tower was complete down to the last shingle, the conical walls a soft gold in the late afternoon sun. Doves settled on the roof. He drew in the familiar scents of home: cypresses, flowering fruit trees, and freshly scythed lawns. Gentle green hills rolled away into violet shadows. Daniel took it all in as if through new eyes while suffering a burning desire to show it to Hope and further enjoy the beauty of his home through her.

  He alighted from the carriage to see Alphonse, as gnarled as an old oak, appear through the door.

  “There may be trouble, Alphonse. Have Verdon, and his brother, Marc, stand guard while I am here,” Daniel said. “There are those who do not wish me to reach English shores. Both men will accompany me to the ship.”

  “As you wish.” Alphonse nodded unruffled by the news. The old man had been through too much in his life to be rattled.

  Daniel went straight to the stables. Tonnerre’s stall was empty.

  When Anton emerged from the stable’s dim interior, Daniel searched his face for a sign that all was well, but although he was talented with horses, the man was annoyingly inscrutable. He was gripped by fear, dreading bad news. “Where is Tonnerre?”

  “Come and see for yourself, Your Grace.”

  Anton led him from the stable block to a paddock. The sun brightened the gelding’s coat, turning it to warm honey as the horse danced across the grass toward them.

  “Tonnerre!” Daniel vaulted the fence. His horse nuzzled a velvety welcome against his hands. “Bonjour, ma beauté.” Daniel’s voice caught in his throat.

  Anton walked up behind him. “He has made a surprisingly good recovery as you see.”

  “He can be ridden?”

  “Absolument. The leg has healed well.”

  “You are a magician, Anton. I shall reward you handsomely, but first…” Daniel swung himself up onto the horse’s back and coiled his fingers in the coarse mane. He nudged Tonnerre’s flank. “Go, ma beauté!” Tonnerre leapt forward and cantered across the grass, the sweet, spring breeze blowing into Daniel’s face.

  As Daniel walked the horse back to where Anton waited, he remembered his conversation with Hope. She’d expressed the view that he needed a pet, and she didn’t believe a horse qualified. Well, she was wrong, and he yearned deep in his gut to bring her here and show her why.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Voices floated out from the parlor. Hope paused at the door then, with a deep breath, entered with Sophie. The Duke of Winslow sat with her parents. Her mother’s face was flushed, and her eyes sparkled when she saw her.

  “There you are, Hope,” she cried gaily. “We have a guest.” They were drinking wine. Was it a celebration? Hope’s heart almost stopped.

  Charity cast her a speaking glance from a damask-covered chair, and from the window seat, Mercy switched her gaze from Hope’s face to Sophie’s and back to Hope’s. Then she gave up and stroked the
cat.

  At Winslow’s regal nod, Hope forced her knees into a curtsey while Sophie did the same.

  “His Grace is traveling to Winslow Hall and has kindly called to see how we fare,” her mother said.

  “Very good of you, Your Grace,” Father echoed.

  “When I heard that misfortune had called you away from London, I wished to offer my services, should they be needed.”

  “Most kind,” Hope echoed. “Mercy has quite recovered, thank you.”

  Her father frowned at her.

  “So I have been informed.” His Grace held up his glass. “Good news indeed.”

  “And we plan to return to London very soon,” her mother said with a glance at Hope’s father.

  Winslow’s pale eyes rested on Hope. Under his scrutiny, she sat mute. Her parents expected her to be bright and interesting, but some heavy weight had settled on her. Her mother leapt into the silence, discussing the unseasonably cold weather, a safe topic. When that was exhausted, her father talked with enthusiasm of the successes of the British sailor James Weddell’s successful southerly voyage. All things nautical were of interest to her father. He often discussed them in detail at dinner and was drawing breath to elaborate when her mother coughed discreetly into her handkerchief.

  “I should like a private word with Lady Hope, if I may,” Winslow said.

  “But of course, Your Grace.” Father efficiently ushered her mother and Mercy from the room with Charity and Sophie following in his wake.

  Within minutes, Hope was alone with Winslow. She licked her dry lips.

  “I’m not one to make hasty decisions,” the duke said, “but I believe we are well suited.”

  Hope swallowed the lump blocking her throat.

  “I dislike ladies given to purposeless conversation. I have not discovered that practice in you,” he continued. “And therefore…”

  “I’ve been accused of it on occasion,” Hope said quickly. “I have very firm opinions.”

  Winslow paused. “Young ladies often do.”

  “Only young ladies?” Hope knew several older ladies who enjoyed a good natter, but perhaps they failed to do so in his presence. There was something quelling about the duke.

  Winslow frowned. “Ladies, correctly schooled by their husbands, are generally more prudent.” He leaned back and gave a weary sigh. “But you are younger than I would wish.”

  “Some have certainly expressed this view,” Hope said, trusting her age would prove an insurmountable problem. “I do try to behave in a mature manner.” She gave a delicate shrug.

  “Oh?” Winslow raised a brow and tapped the pads of his fingers together. “I shall let matters stand for the moment. And hold a house party at Winslow Hall in, let us say, a sennight.” He rose. “I must now depart. I have a lengthy journey ahead, which has now become much longer. Kindly inform your parents. My secretary will send an invitation.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. I’m sure my parents will be free to attend.”

  With another thoughtful glance, he bowed and took his leave.

  Her knees trembled with relief that he’d left without seeking a commitment. She watched his carriage disappear down the drive from the parlor window.

  “Did he propose?” Charity asked behind her.

  “No. But he’s considering it.”

  “He’s not overcome with passion then.”

  “He gave no sign of it,” she said, relieved that he hadn’t tried to woo her with a display of affection.

  Charity squeezed Hope’s shoulder. “You’re shaking.”

  “I don’t want to marry him.”

  “I wouldn’t either.”

  She turned. “Why not?”

  “It’s as if life has been sucked out of him. He has a depressing air.”

  Hope stared at her. It was true. Winslow was world-weary. There wasn’t a shred of passion in him. How different he was from Daniel, who had every right to be sad. But Daniel didn’t lack passion. Quite the contrary, she’d sensed a vital spark beating within his chest, waiting only to be set alight. The realization brought a rush of yearning. She clenched her jaw to stop the sob in her throat.

  “But I want passion. I can’t endure the thought of a marriage without it.”

  Charity rubbed Hope’s arm. “You said it wasn’t important. Marrying an English duke mattered more.”

  “Well, I was wrong. Passion in a marriage is of vital importance. I can’t imagine trying to explain that to Father. He won’t understand.”

  “No, and he’ll become extremely bad tempered, which we’ll just have to put up with. You should never have led him to believe that you would welcome the duke. He might insist you marry him,” Charity pointed out with her usual pragmatism.

  “Yes, I know. I’ve been a fool.” Hope went in search of her mother, annoyed with Charity. Must her sister always be right? At least she had a reprieve for a couple of weeks until the house party.

  She met her startled mother in the corridor. “Has the duke left without saying goodbye to us? What did he say to you? Did he…?” She frowned. “Did you refuse him?”

  “He didn’t ask me to marry him, Mama.”

  “He didn’t? I understood that he would.” She sighed. “I’d trusted that, when he did, your good sense would come to the fore, Hope. What did he say?”

  “He invited us to…”

  Father had emerged from his study. He beckoned to her. “I wish to speak to you, Hope.” She braced herself and followed him into the room.

  An hour later, Hope emerged fighting tears. Charity threw an arm around her waist and led her up the stairs to their bedroom. Sophie slipped inside to join them.

  “Father insists if the duke asks for my hand I must accept him. If I do not, my reputation will be ruined.”

  “Why?” Sophie asked.

  “I shall be seen as toying with him and, therefore, of an unreliable character. No man will want me.”

  “I must say I find the beau monde’s behavior quite ridiculous,” Sophie said with a scowl.

  Charity eyed her. “You are one of us now, Sophie.”

  “I can’t claim that.”

  Hope and Charity stared at her.

  Hope put her hands to her face. “What can I do?”

  “You must discover something unfavorable about him,” Sophie said. “Something your father will not accept.”

  “But that’s impossible. He’s a duke…he’s wealthy…everyone looks up to him.”

  “Can you remember something in his manner that gave you pause?” Charity asked.

  “No. His manners are impeccable.” Hope thought for a minute. “Although he was very dismissive of his sister-in-law. Quite rude in fact.”

  Charity nodded thoughtfully. “Did something happen to cause it?”

  “Not that I saw.” Hope shrugged. “And it’s impossible to find out.”

  “You may learn more at the house party,” Sophie said.

  Hope’s eyes widened. “Our neighbor, the Dowager Marchioness of Brandreth, who is Faith and Honor’s mother-in-law, knows everything about the ton.” She groaned. “But she has remarried and no longer lives next door.”

  Sophie clapped her hands. “Then we must find her!”

  It seemed a scheme destined to fail. “We can only try, I suppose. I’ll write to Faith.” Hope hurried over to her desk.

  ****

  As good as his word, a few days later, a messenger arrived at Daniel’s estate with de Villèle’s letter containing the assurances that Canning required. Eager to return to England, Daniel departed soon afterward.

  The trip to the Channel was without mishap.

  With an eye to the thunderous sky, Daniel sent his two armed servants back to his estate and stepped aboard ship.

  Some hours later, as the boat sailed toward the English coast, they were hit by a violent storm. Daniel braced himself against the deck shifting beneath his feet. The bow dipped and shuddered with the force of the waves crashing against the timber hull. A surge o
f spray washed over the side, swirling around his feet. He should go below, but his memories prevented him. The thought of being trapped kept him above deck. Another passenger stood a few yards away, of the same mind.

  Deep in thought, Daniel forgot him until the man was suddenly beside him, a short, dark-haired fellow, his cap pulled low over his face. “Not a good crossing, señor.”

  “We can’t always be lucky,” Daniel said, uneasily eyeing the Spaniard.

  Above them, a sail shredded and flapped in the wind, and a sailor shimmied up the mast like a monkey. “He is good, eh?” the Spaniard asked, watching the sailor.

  Not fooled, Daniel kept the Spaniard in view. He was ready when the Spaniard shifted closer, his hand inside his coat.

  At the glint of steel, Daniel backed away. The man followed, moving his knife from hand to hand.

  “The letter is not in your cabin, señor. Hand it over or go overboard.”

  “The only letter you’ll get from me is an introduction to Hades,” Daniel rasped out. There was nowhere to run to escape him, so Daniel ran at him. He skidded over the slippery surface, taking the Spaniard by surprise while he used the mast to right himself. He kicked out at him. His boot connected with the man’s hand holding the knife. The blade went spinning out of reach.

  “Who sent you?” Daniel rasped out.

  “Those that don’t want your interference in Spain’s concerns,” the man said. With a growl, he leapt toward Daniel.

  The Spaniard was stronger than he looked. He rammed his shoulder into Daniel, pushing him back against the ship’s rail. Daniel’s fist connected with the man’s jaw, but the assailant knew how to fight and countered the next one. Suddenly, his wiry hand clenched around Daniel’s throat and pushed him back, half over the rail. Salt stung his throat, the roar of the sea deafening. As if the past was about to collide with the present, old fears resurfaced. They tore through him, turning his legs to jelly.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hope received Faith’s reply two days later. She removed the letter from the silver salver in the morning room before it attracted the attention of her parents. Leaving the house, she took it to the garden gazebo, where they couldn’t be overheard discussing its contents. Sophie and Charity joined her there.