“I will, Annie.”

  Arabella did her best to muster a smile and went to the front door. She was admitted by the butler and led not to the drawing room but rather a small, sunny parlor. The duchess sat at a writing desk and pushed aside her correspondence as Arabella entered.

  “There you are,” she said warmly, crossing the room and enveloping Arabella in a tight embrace. “It is so good to see you.”

  “It’s very good to see you looking so well, Your Grace.”

  The duchess laughed. “I’ve only lost my breakfast today. I had several bites for luncheon and they stayed down. I hope that’s a good sign. Please, come and sit, Lady Arabella. Elizabeth should be here shortly.”

  They had only just settled themselves when Lady Elizabeth entered the room, followed by the teacart. The duchess greeted her new visitor and then prepared the tea, passing each of them a cup and saucer as they both made up a small plate.

  “Everything looks wonderful, Your Grace,” Arabella said. “Thank you for having me today.”

  The duchess settled back and said, “First of all, I am to be Samantha. It is what Elizabeth calls me and I wish for you to do the same in private.”

  “Oh, that is quite an honor,” she said, moved by the duchess’ kind gesture. “And I am Arabella to you both.”

  “Elizabeth and I have gotten to know each other better as we’ve spent time with Elise—Lady Ruthersby.” The duchess chuckled. “We were helping her to find suitable women to be my brother’s duchess and have spent many hours on the endeavor.”

  Arabella was confused. “I am not sure I quite understand.”

  “My brother had already told our circle of his deep and abiding feelings for Elise. We knew all along that he would offer for her.”

  “And he did it in the most spectacular way at last night’s ball,” Elizabeth said. “It was the most romantic thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

  “Though the ton will wag their tongues about it for weeks to come, I am grateful that love has finally come into my brother’s life,” Samantha said. “He was to be married once many years ago. The marriage did not take place and he turned wild, earning his sobriquet the Duke of Disrepute. I think he’ll sport a new nickname soon.” She paused. “But we need to talk of another matter. That of Blackmore and Arabella. Do you have any insight, Elizabeth?”

  “I wish I did,” Elizabeth said.

  Hearing her words, Arabella’s heart sank. “He had asked my father for permission to court me and then last night—immediately after the Duke of Treadwell proposed to Lady Ruthersby—he called me aside and, in private, told me he was withdrawing. That I should feel free to seek the company of other gentlemen.”

  “I truly don’t understand why my brother would do such a thing, Arabella. And then he left abruptly this morning for Suffolk.”

  “Suffolk? Whatever for?” asked Samantha.

  “That’s a bit of a mystery. I confronted him at breakfast for leaving me stranded at the ball.” Elizabeth smiled. “Thank you again for helping me to get home last night, Samantha. I accused Jon of forgetting about me. He admitted he had.”

  “But what is in Suffolk that would claim his attention?” Samantha asked.

  “Our uncle and his son, our cousin.” Elizabeth shook her head. “I never even knew we had an uncle. Jon had never mentioned him before this morning. He told me that Uncle Ambrose had come to the house once when Jon and Arch were very young, six or so, and that was the only time he’d ever seen him. Other than knowing Ambrose had gone into the military, Jon knew nothing about our uncle.”

  Arabella wondered who Arch might be, having never met him. From what Elizabeth said, he was a possible sibling. Perhaps being a second son, this Arch had gone into the military and was now at war against Bonaparte.

  “Hmm,” Samantha said. “Sounds like a falling out between your father and uncle.”

  Elizabeth continued. “Jon received word from some solicitor a few days ago that Uncle Ambrose was on death’s doorstep and had named Jon as his son’s guardian. The letter didn’t mention how old Cousin Arthur is, only that Jon should come to Suffolk with haste to handle the affairs.”

  Arabella wondered why Jon hadn’t left immediately upon receiving the news. As one who hadn’t known her own uncles and had yet to meet the two daughters of the previous Earl of Barrington, she certainly would have gone quickly to see this dying uncle and meet her cousin.

  “But would that have anything to do with Blackmore brushing off Arabella?” Samantha mused.

  “I don’t see why it would,” Elizabeth said. “Jon said he might be gone a week or more, depending upon when Uncle Ambrose passed. He didn’t know if Arthur was at school or if this solicitor had the boy brought home to see his father one last time before he passed. It’s all very mysterious—but it shouldn’t have affected his budding relationship with you, Arabella.”

  She found herself tearing up and hated that her emotions had such control over her.

  Elizabeth took her hand and squeezed it. “I can tell you how excited Jon was about getting to know you. When the Season began, we both were quite honest with one another. I told my brother I was looking for love and that was the reason why I had not accepted any offers during my come-out. He shared that he was tired of the life he was leading and envious of his friends who had married and were building lives with their wives and hoping to start families. I know he has strong feelings for you, Arabella. I cannot imagine why he would break away from you, especially after seeing such happiness last night between Elise and Treadwell.”

  Arabella patted Elizabeth’s hand before releasing it. “I will be honest. His words have left me in a quandary. He . . . well . . . he kissed me last night. It occurred before we danced and Treadwell proposed. I thought things were going splendidly between us, only to have my hopes dashed. Mind you, no promises had been given, much less broken, but I feel a sense of loss and betrayal all the same.”

  She took a sip of tea to calm her and then said, “I would never tell anyone outside this room but I am very hurt.”

  “And well you should be,” Samantha agreed. “Blackmore has a reputation as a notorious rake but he has always acted very honorably in my presence. George considers him a dear, true friend, one who is loyal and would never betray him.”

  She looked to Elizabeth. “Do you think your brother . . . do you think he toyed with me? Being a rake, he may have wished to deflower me. If he had any feelings for me, might he have changed his mind about ruining me and that’s why he said what he did?”

  “My brother has had numerous affairs, I’ll grant you that,” Elizabeth said. “But he has never hurt an innocent. He has bedded only experienced, willing women. Widows who were free to do as they pleased or wives who had already provided their husbands with an heir and as many in the ton do, sought pleasure outside their marriages. Jon is a very good man, Arabella. When he returns to London, I will confront him and we will find the reason for his dismissal of you.”

  “No,” she protested. “That is the last thing I want, Elizabeth. I don’t want him to know I came to either of you regarding this matter. If he has decided I am not for him, I must learn to accept that and move on.”

  “But he cares for you,” Elizabeth said passionately. “I know he does.”

  “Then he has an odd way of showing it,” Arabella said. “I beg of you. Let the matter lie and don’t involve yourselves.”

  “But what will you do, Arabella?” asked Samantha. “I know from how you speak that you have developed feelings for Blackmore. Especially since you kissed him.”

  She shrugged. “My father expects me to wed after this Season ends. I suppose I shall have to investigate other men and get to know them.”

  But her heart told her that none of them would live up to the Duke of Blackmore. No man was as handsome or intelligent. None of them could stir her blood with his kisses. It didn’t matter. She would shove her heart aside and lock it away, where it had remained all these years, allowing her to think rationally once again.

  Placing her saucer down, she said, “If I am to look for a husband, I must be more presentable.”

  She saw the look exchanged between her new friends.

  “I had a few gowns made up in Wiltshire before we came to London but I see now they are most inadequate. My maid has tried to do what she can with her needle to make them more presentable but I believe what I need is a good dressmaker here in London.”

  Samantha nodded. “Elizabeth and I share the most wonderful modiste. I will write to her now and see if she will grant you an appointment tomorrow. And the both of us will go with you to help you choose fabrics and styles.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “For now, you can come home with me. We are the same height and I believe I have several gowns that might fit you.”

  “I cannot take your wardrobe!” Arabella protested.

  “I have too many gowns to count,” her friend said. “And I am wearing none of those I did last year. You can take several of them and your maid can make them over so no one will recognize them.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “That would be wonderful. How can I thank you both?”

  Samantha smiled knowingly. “By looking spectacular in your new gowns. When Blackmore returns to London, he will salivate at your feet. And if for some odd reason he still wishes to keep to himself, then you will attract a good many men in his place. You are already quite popular. We will find you a husband, Arabella. I guarantee it.”

  Arabella smiled, knowing the only man she longed for had washed his hands of her. She would have to make the best of the situation, though. She couldn’t wait around for the Duke of Blackmore to come to his senses. She would forge ahead and live her life the way she chose.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Framington, Suffolk

  Jon arrived at Milford Milligan’s office after stopping at the local tavern for a bite to eat since he had consumed nothing all day. Food held no taste for him ever since he’d left Arabella’s side two nights ago. He forced all thoughts of her from his mind as he tried to down the bowl of stew and half a loaf of bread the tavern wench brought to him. Once he’d finished, he’d asked her where Milligan could be found and was directed here.

  Framington was a small village about five miles north of Ipswich. He hoped his uncle’s residence was nearby. He was weary from his journey and the sleeplessness brought about by letting Arabella go. It was for the best. She was a remarkable woman who deserved a man who would love her to the extreme. He had tried to convince himself he could be that man but only a cold lump resided in his chest where his heart should be. Arabella needed a husband who would make her the most important thing in his life. Jon didn’t love himself and couldn’t bring himself to drag Arabella into the mire he existed in.

  He knocked on the door and entered when bidden to do so. A slight man with a trim moustache and sandy hair sat behind a desk. Kind, brown eyes hid behind gold spectacles.

  “Mr. Milligan? I am the Duke of Blackmore.”

  The solicitor shot to his feet. “Oh, Your Grace. I only received your letter an hour ago. You almost beat it here,” he exclaimed.

  “My plans changed. I was able to leave London earlier than I expected. How is my uncle? And what of this cousin? You said very little of him, other than I would be named his guardian.”

  “Mr. Arthur Sutton has just turned sixteen, Your Grace. He is a delightful young man, though a bit lonely.”

  Jon frowned. “Has he no friends? Is he bullied at school?”

  “No, there’s been no school for Arthur in a good seven years or more.”

  “Why not?”

  Milligan indicated a chair. “Might you have a seat, Your Grace? I can fill you in on what you need to know.”

  Jon took a seat and stared at Milligan. “Well?”

  Nervously, the solicitor shuffled papers around on his desk. Jon tried to relax his features. He knew with his height and build that he cut an imposing figure. Throw the title of a duke into the mix, along with his innate arrogance, and he thoroughly intimidated people.

  “I only met my uncle once and that was more than two decades ago. I was but a small boy. Tell me what you can of him.”

  “I see.” Milligan adjusted his spectacles and calmed himself. “Being a second son of nobility, Colonel Sutton served in His Majesty’s Army his entire adult life. That is, until he was injured in the Battle of Bussaco.”

  Jon had kept track of the many battles of the war, especially the ones of the Peninsular War, since Sebastian had been stationed there during that time. He idly wondered if his friend had encountered Ambrose while in Spain and Portugal.

  “Bussaco? That is in Portugal, isn’t it?” he asked. “I seem to recall that battle occurred a good five years ago.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. In the Portuguese mountain range of Serra do Bucaco. Lord Wellington’s Anglo-Portuguese army defeated the French forces. Colonel Sutton was severely injured and not thought to live. He rallied and was brought back to Framington, where his wife and son lived. Mrs. Sutton was in delicate health, however, and died soon after her husband returned. Arthur was already living at home with his mother. He’d gone off to school, per his father’s request, but his mother was lonely and had the boy brought home after only a few terms. Once the colonel arrived home, Arthur never left again. He was needed at home to help care for his father.”

  Jon pitied the boy, having to leave school to keep a sickly mother company and then remaining at home these past five years while his father obviously was in poor health. It was a heavy burden to place upon the shoulders of one so young.

  “I would like to see my uncle now if he is still alive. If not, I wish to meet my cousin.”

  “I can take you there. Sutton Cottage is perhaps two miles from Framington.”

  “Good. My carriage is waiting outside.”

  They retreated to it, Milligan giving the coachman directions to their destination. On the way there, Jon reflected on the few times his father had mentioned his brother over the years. The duke claimed Ambrose unfit to do anything, saying horrible things about his own flesh and blood and remarking how their father had given up on teaching Ambrose anything. What Jon remembered most was how his father said because Ambrose lacked any kind of skill, Jon’s grandfather had washed his hands of his second son, concentrating on teaching Jon’s father all he would need to know to become Duke of Blackmore. It reminded him of his own boyhood and how his father had favored Arch over him to the extreme. Jon sympathized with his uncle and felt terrible for his much younger cousin.

  The carriage came to a halt and they disembarked. Sutton Cottage was a small structure, probably all his uncle could afford after being pensioned off after his war wound. He vowed to do right by his cousin and help Arthur forge a good life once his father was dead.

  The door opened and a short, stout man stood before them, his eyes wary.

  “Ah, Mr. Randall,” said Milligan. “This is His Grace, the Duke of Blackmore, and nephew to the colonel.”

  The man looked Jon up and down dismissively. “You took long enough to get here.”

  A sizzle of anger ran through him. “I did not know anything of my uncle nor his condition until I received Mr. Milligan’s missive earlier this week.”

  Surprise filled the man’s face and then he snorted. “Figures.”

  “Might we come in, Mr. Randall?” the solicitor asked.

  “Suit yourself.” Randall stepped aside and admitted the pair.

  Jon looked about the cottage, seeing it was small and mostly bare. “I’d like to see Uncle Ambrose.”

  “The doctor’s with him now,” Randall said.

  “Good. I had planned to speak to the doctor,” he added, “about my uncle’s injury and how to make him more comfortable.”

  “I’ve been making him comfortable for years,” Randall retorted. “Without the likes of you.”

  “Mr. Randall!” exclaimed Milligan. “You are to be respectful to His Grace.”

  “Why?” the surly servant demanded. “His father wasn’t respectful of my master.”

  Jon spoke up. “I admire your loyalty to my uncle, Mr. Randall. And I apologize for my father’s behavior. He was a hard man. As his second son, I received little of his attention.”

  Randall, who was gazing away, turned and met Jon’s eyes. “Is that so?”

  “Yes. My brother, who was minutes older than I, was the favored son. He died and I became the duke instead.”

  He wasn’t sure why he was sharing this with such a belligerent servant but the man did seem protective of his uncle. That was something to be said in his favor.

  “The colonel never got one letter from his father. I should know. I was his batman and with him from the beginning.”

  Jon saw loyalty ran deep with this man. “Uncle Ambrose came to the house once when I was a small boy. We spoke briefly—but he made a lasting impression upon me. I am grateful for your service to him all these years.”

  “It’s been my pleasure to serve the colonel. In the army and now.”

  “Are you his valet?” Jon asked.

  A harsh bark emitted from Randall. “His valet? I suppose so, Your Grace. I care for him and the house. There are no other servants. Only me and young Arthur. We see to the colonel.”

  Guilt rushed through Jon. He had unimaginable wealth and numerous properties. If he had known where his uncle and cousin were and that they were in such great need, he would have settled an income on them and given them an estate. Or brought them to live with him and Elizabeth. She would have liked that.

  “Well, I am here now. I will do my part since I am finally aware of the situation.”

  “The situation, Your Grace, is the man is dying,” Randall said bluntly. “He has been since I helped carry him off a battlefield five years ago. He’s died a little each day. Suffered unimaginable pain.”

  Jon’s thoughts turned to Arch and how he, too, had suffered terribly. “I am sorry to hear that. Truly.”

  “Are you the duke?” a voice asked.

  Jon turned and saw a middle-aged man with light brown hair and a weary face.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23