Lady Hope and the Duke of Darkness: The Baxendale Sisters Book 3 Page 14

  As he prepared to leave for Tunbridge Wells, a letter arrived from Hope. Your Grace, I wish to thank you for kindly putting my mind at rest. I am greatly relieved to learn Sophie is safe. If you’ll permit me to express my opinion on the matter, I consider it perfectly sensible for your half-sister to marry a man not of the beau monde, but rather an academic. I did sense a reluctance in Sophie to embrace society. The demands on her, should she have married a member of the ton, could have proved quite stultifying for a woman as adventurous as she. Daniel paused. He respected Hope’s opinion, and she’d seen a side of Sophie that had been kept from him.

  He returned to the page. Please excuse this rushed missive. We are about to leave for Winslow Hall in Dorset. The Duke of Winslow’s house party has been brought forward. It is to be held this Saturday.

  Very truly yours,

  Hope Baxendale

  He thumped his fist on the desk. “Dammit!” He’d been too slow wakening from his self-imposed exile. He put the letter down and walked the length of his library, which seemed too quiet and empty since Sophie had gone. He confessed to sorely missing his half-sister, and their lively evening discussions. Her warm, familial presence had enriched his life. He should have listened to her advice. For now, Hope, the one person he wanted, who could fill his life with love and joy, was lost to him.

  ****

  The Winslow estate was every bit as grand as Hope expected. She gazed out of the window as their carriage passed through formal gardens on its approach to the Elizabethan house, of mammoth proportions.

  After a liveried footman opened the door. A dark-suited butler led them into the Great Hall, where the duke greeted them. He looked relaxed and self-possessed, amidst huge portraits of his ancestors on the walls gazing down in stern repose. As more guests arrived, a footman escorted them up to the floors above and their allotted bedrooms. Along the corridors, there seemed to be footmen wherever she looked.

  Hope entered the bedroom, the grey carpet soft underfoot. An ornately carved four-poster bed was hung in gold damask. She would take up only a very small corner of it, which would be lonely because she was used to sharing with Charity. A boudoir led off the bedroom, with a chaise longue in gold satin, the walls hung with mirrors. Her trunk already stood beside a handsome armoire. Hope caught sight of her pale face in a mirror when she turned her head. She’d been unaware that she had caught her lower lip between her teeth.

  A maid knocked at the bedroom door, entered and curtseyed. “I’m your maid, Jenkins, my lady. Would you care for some tea before your bath?”

  Hope nodded. “Thank you, Jenkins.” Anxiety made her throat horribly dry.

  The maid helped Hope change from her carriage gown into a negligee. A servant carried in a tray loaded with tea things, a cup and saucer with the Winslow crest in gold and a plate of tiny sandwiches and cakes. Jenkins disappeared into the other room to unpack Hope’s trunk as Hope sat before the small fire burning in the fireplace. A fire seemed hardly necessary, for the weather wasn’t cold, in fact, it was warmer than at home but she supposed these old houses needed constant heating. The tea was hot and strong. When Hope had finished her delicious refreshments, Jenkins pulled the bell rope. Moments later, two maids entered the boudoir carrying buckets of water, soap and towels, followed by two footmen with a hipbath.

  Hope luxuriated in the lavender scented water while Jenkins washed her back. When she stood, the maid enveloped her in a soft, fluffy towel. Wearing a silk negligee over her chemise, she sat before the dressing table mirror while her hair was dressed in the latest style and brilliants tucked into the creation with Jenkin’s quick, expert hands.

  Soon after, Hope left the room wearing the white, embroidered and spangled evening gown her mother had chosen. Her heart still heavy despite her luxurious surroundings, she knocked on her parents’ adjacent bedroom.

  “Sit before the mirror, Hope. What do you think of Winslow Hall?” Her mother gazed at her shrewdly in the mirror as she fastened the clasp of the silver chain around Hope’s neck.

  Hope added dainty rose-cut diamond earrings to her lobes. “It is very grand. Where’s Father?”

  “He’s gone to examine the duke’s library before dinner. Winslow has a wonderful collection of books on naval battles.”

  “Really, must Father be so annoying?” Hope pressed her lips together to prevent a moan of despair.

  “It holds a certain fascination for him dear. Hard for a woman to understand I grant you. Now stand up and let me look at you.” Wearing her oak leaf emerald and diamond tiara and a green silk gown, her mother tilted her head to study Hope. She smiled. “Perfect. Shall we go down and find your father?”

  At dinner, Hope was placed to the duke’s right, with Lady Bevan staring haughtily at her from his left. “Young women’s faces lack expression; do you not agree, Winslow? They have yet to develop character, to become interesting,” Lady Bevan said. He shushed her, but several times during the long, arduous affair, her veiled criticisms were aimed at Hope, her voice loaded with spite. If embarrassment and discomfort hadn’t made Hope’s stomach churn, the forty-odd dishes served certainly would have.

  Hope turned to the gentleman on her left and conversed with him, while continuing to ignore Lady Bevan who spoke alluringly to Winslow about the trips they had taken when the duchess was alive, and their sojourns aboard the king’s yacht, The Royal George. Winslow merely grunted in response.

  Growing ever more uneasy by the strained atmosphere, Hope longed for the dinner to end.

  At last, the ladies left the gentleman to their port. In the drawing room, Lady Bevan took control of the conversation while pointedly ignoring Hope. When they entered the ballroom sometime later, Hope spotted Amy Tyndale amongst the guests. Relieved to find a friendly face, Hope took the opportunity for a quiet word with her while the musicians tuned their instruments.

  Amy held a white-gloved hand against her mouth with a sigh. “Doesn’t the duke look splendid?”

  Hope glanced at Winslow, where he held court with all the confidence his place in the world afforded him. She had to agree that, despite his short stature, he did look every inch a duke tonight.

  When the musicians struck up for a minuet, it was Hope that Winslow led out onto the floor. During the evening, he danced with her again. Hope’s heart sank to her satin slippers; his actions surely heralded a proposal of marriage.

  Her parents obviously agreed with her. Mama tucked a displaced wisp of Hope’s hair behind her ear. The last dance was called, the Sir Roger de Coverly. “If the duke invites you to dance the country dance, we are assured of a proposal.”

  Hope felt as if her heart had stopped. She couldn’t catch her breath as Winslow made his way toward her. “Please consider all that he offers, my dear,” her mother whispered.

  A disturbance in the crowd caused everyone to turn. Winslow was but a few steps from Hope when the duke’s sister-in-law thrust her way through and blocked his path.

  “Please do not forget yourself, Lady Bevan,” Winslow warned.

  “You would seek to marry this chit?” Lady Bevan shrieked. She fell at his feet. “You have been my lover for almost twenty years, George.” Her voice shook. “And I have supported you through thick and thin. Do I not deserve to be your wife?”

  Murmurs died away, and the ballroom hushed. Guests stared at the fascinating tableau taking place before them.

  “Madam, you are embarrassing my guests. Your behavior is unworthy of the position you hold in society!” The duke reached down and took Lady Bevan’s hands, but sobbing loudly, she slipped out of his grasp and lay prostrate on the floor at his feet. Winslow was forced to bend over her. He gasped her arms in what Hope thought a cruel grip and dragged her to her feet. “Come, Lady Bevan,” he said in an angry, low voice.

  Lady Bevan struggled against his hold. “Not until I have your assurance….”

  “You will desist immediately in this behavior.” Winslow led her forcibly from the ballroom.

  Her mo
ther stared at Hope in bewilderment as the room erupted into shocked chatter. Her father scowled. “This is disgraceful. I won’t allow any daughter of mine to be a part of the Duke’s family.” His outraged voice carried in the lofty space. Some tittered; another observed aloud that Lady Bevan was too old to give the duke an heir.

  Hope hid her tremulous smile behind her fan as her father took hold of her mother’s arm. “Come along, Hope, we are leaving.

  “Bring down the Baxendale’s luggage and call our carriage,” he instructed a footman through clenched teeth.

  Numb with relief, Hope followed her mother’s heaving shoulders up the stairs.

  Chapter Nineteen

  When they arrived at Highland Manor, Mercy and Charity ran out of the house.

  “You’re back already?” Charity asked. “Edward has sent a note. Honor’s time has come,”

  With a cry, Mama all but leapt down the carriage steps. “I must go to her. She will need me. Where’s that maid? I must leave immediately.” She hurried through the door to the servant’s quarters.

  Her father had been quiet during the return trip home. “From one drama to the next,” he said with a sigh. “Hope, I trust you are not too unhappy because you won’t marry Winslow?”

  “No, Father.” She pressed her lips together to prevent a smile.

  He eyed her suspiciously. “Tell your mother I will be in the study reading my new edition on Nelson’s Battle of Trafalgar, if she needs me.”

  When he left, Charity grabbed her arm. “For heaven’s sake, tell me what happened with Winslow. I’m dying to know!”

  Now that her mother had gone to stay with Honor and Edward, and her father was ensconced in his study, Hope was able to think. She would go to the ends of the earth with Daniel should he wish it. She loved him. She’d known it long before he’d held her in his arms, and she was no longer prepared to ignore her feelings. The depth of her own driving need shocked her, and she’d sensed in the barely controlled emotion tightening his body, and the hitch in his breath as he held her, that he wanted her too, not as a friend but something more. She’d had been forced to fight her own battle of restraint in order not to confess her feelings. She couldn’t bear tossing and turning at night and dreaming of him in her waking moments. She had to know one way or the other. A lady was never forward. One never invited a gentleman to court her, but rather waited demurely for him to come to her. Well, she wasn’t demure, and she was tired of trying to be. She would soon know. Hope flew up to her room and dashed off a letter to Daniel. She sent it before her courage failed her.

  ****

  When Hope’s letter arrived, Daniel’s heart felt as if it could lift right out of his chest. She wrote that the family had returned home early from Winslow Hall after a Courtdisturbing incident. They would remain in Tunbridge Wells for several weeks, as her sister Honor was having a baby and her mother had gone to be with her.

  A few hours later, Daniel was in his phaeton driving to Highland Manor wondering what had prompted Baxendale to remove his daughter from Winslow Court. The way ahead lay clear, if Hope’s parents had softened their stance, but of that, he couldn’t be sure.

  The lateness of the hour forced him to put up at an inn and rest his horses, but he slept little. At first light on the next morning, he was on the road again. He reached Highland Manor at midday when the house slumbered in its gardens.

  The door flew open. Hope stepped out. She paused on the porch, her blue eyes full of unquenchable warmth. His gaze roamed over her, her winsome body in her blue dress, her tremulous smile. He wanted her so much he’d do anything to have her.

  “Are you happy to see me?” He put a finger under her chin and raised it to gaze into eyes that shimmered with emotion.

  “I am most dreadfully,” she admitted with a sigh.

  “Come with me.” He took her hand and led her along the garden path to a painted gazebo in the center of the lawn. Then he turned to her, his gaze raking her face, taking in every delicate feature then focusing on her mouth. “We should talk, but…” He shook his head, crushed her to him and lowered his head to plunder her sweet lips.

  Daniel caressed her soft cheek with a finger. “Your papa is here? I must speak to him.”

  She nodded and leaned into him coiling her arms around his neck.

  Surprised by her uncharacteristic silence, his hands moved gently down her back. She was usually so irrepressible. As he feathered kisses over her face, her lashes fluttered, and she gripped his coat. “Ma cherie,” he murmured huskily against her mouth. His willpower evaporated when he was close to her. His hands stroked down her body, over the curve of her hip, her sweetly rounded derriere, pulling her against him. She murmured and raked her hands through his hair. As he roused her passion, his own grew stronger. This won’t do.

  “Hope,” he murmured as his lips seared a path down her neck to her shoulder. She tasted of scented soap. “Mon dieu. This is very bad of me. We must talk.”

  She gazed mistily up at him. “Are you about to give me reasons why we shouldn’t marry? I won’t listen.”

  He grinned. “Oh, you won’t?”

  “Sophie has written. Apart from expressing remorse at how she treated us by eloping—she felt it wasn’t fair to involve me in her plan—she said that you care for me and that I’m to refuse to listen to any reasons why we can’t be together.”

  “My half-sister is outrageous,” he said ruefully, “even from a distance.”

  “I am extremely fond of Sophie. I shall miss her.”

  “I too.” He drew away a little. “I have no intention of discouraging you, ma Cherie, but I doubt you will be happy should you never see your family.”

  “Never?” Her eyes grew shadowed. “I thought we might visit now and again.”

  “We can spend half the year here in England. Would that suit?”

  “Oh Daniel. It would be perfect. I believe Father will be pleased by such a plan.”

  “And if he isn’t?”

  She gave an impish smile. “We’ll elope.”

  He laughed and kissed her nose. “Then you will marry me, ma cherie?”

  She put her hand to his cheek. “Oh yes, my love.”

  He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “I must speak to your father.”

  They walked back to the house. “You will make a beautiful duchess,” he said as Charity and Mercy appeared on the porch.

  Mercy rushed to Hope with a squeal of delight.

  Graves stood at the door, feigning indifference.

  “Please tell the earl I wish to see him,” Daniel said as Mercy pulled him into the salon by the hand. He sat where directed to listen to the chatter of three sweet voices, and his heart swelled with emotions he’d thought long since dead.

  Chapter Twenty

  Would her father be more agreeable to Daniel’s suit after the humiliating business with Winslow? He must! Hope placed a hand to her lips, remembering the delicious sensation of Daniel’s kisses which had made her lightheaded with desire. But he’d been closeted with her father in his study for over an hour. She couldn’t sit still and hardly dared to breathe. “If Father refuses Daniel, we shall have to go to Gretna Green,” she said to Charity. “Although I fear Daniel will never agree.”

  The clatter of horses on the gravel drew them to the parlor window. “Mama!” Mercy dashed outside.

  Their mother emerged from the carriage. “Honor and Edward have a son.” She hugged them each in turn. “He’s a bonny boy, and Honor is well. Better, in fact, than Edward, who looks exhausted.”

  Charity gave a crow of delight. “Oh, Mama! Whom does the baby look like? Is he fair or dark?”

  “He has dark hair like his father.”

  They entered through the open door, where the butler waited. “Honor has given birth to a son, Graves. Please convey the news to the staff.”

  “Indeed, my lady.” Graves’ face was wreathed in smiles.

  “Mama? Daniel, Duc du Ténèbres, has asked for my hand. He is in
the study with Father.”

  Her mother’s smile faded. “Oh, Hope. I did fear this.”

  “We have come to care for one another.”

  Mama gave an anguished moan. “He’ll take you away from us.”

  “No Mama. Daniel says we will spend six months of the year in England. You will like Daniel very much when you come to know him.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “He’s a more honorable man than Winslow proved to be.”

  Her mother took her hands. “You must give this serious thought. You have a tender heart. Are you certain it’s not merely sympathy you feel for him? Imagine, Hope, shut away in a drafty castle in France, far from us, your children brought up to speak a language not your own. The French customs and way of life are so very different to ours. You may well come to regret a hasty decision.”

  “Mama, I love him. You’re forgetting that Daniel grew up in England. In some ways, he’s more English than French. Daniel has a house in Ham.”

  “Love does not conquer all, Hope, but that is most encouraging. If he keeps to his word.” She sighed. “Let us see if your father agrees. I want at least a month to pass before your wedding.”

  “Why?” Hope asked, dismayed.

  “We have the christening and the engagement party. You need to be sure of your decision. You also need time to get to know him, and so do we.” Mama walked into the corridor. “Now I must go and tell your father the news.”

  Hope nervously followed her mother to her father’s study. When they opened the door, Daniel and her father were leaning over his desk, a large tome on naval battles open before them. “I’m glad that you accept the view, Your Grace, that Nelson…”

  Daniel met her gaze and an easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. Hope smiled back as joy bubbled up inside her.

  “Baxendale,” her mother said in a firm tone as she crossed the brown carpet to his side.

  Father looked up with a frown. His expression cleared at the sight of her mother. “Home so soon, my love? What news?”